


In the Shadow of the Bat

by TheBatchild



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman Begins (2005), Dark Knight (2008), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 160,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBatchild/pseuds/TheBatchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've known Bruce Wayne my entire life.  We were friends once, before he left Gotham.  When he finally returned seven years later, he was still my friend but he was different.  I just didn't realize how different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before

_One year since Bruce left Gotham.  
Six years before the Batman._

I was pretty sure my eyes were playing tricks on me. I could not be seeing what I was seeing. Not here.

I was in a dimly lit pub, halfway across the world, and it had been over a year since he'd vanished from Gotham.

But there he was.

Shocking the hell out of me and making me spit beer down the front of my shirt.

I mopped up the spill as I studied him, looking for anything to tell me it wasn't him. But my brain wasn't letting up. It was him. I'd never been very good at fooling myself.

He looked like he'd had a hard year. A very hard year. He was much thinner than I remembered, though I could see muscles working in his arms and neck as he shifted back and forth in front of the man he was talking to. His brown hair hung long and limp around sunken cheeks darkened with several days' worth of scruff, and his skin was tanned and rough from exposure to various sorts of weather. He didn't look like the billionaire's son I'd grown up around, and he didn't look like the university dropout I'd seen a year ago, before attending the trial of his parents' murderer. There was something new, different in his eyes, in the way he held himself. He didn't look like himself, but there was no question. It was him.

It was Bruce Wayne.

I caught myself smiling. I blinked a few times, pinched my arm hard to see if I was imagining him sitting at the bar. I'd been away from Gotham a long time, almost six weeks. Maybe I was homesick? Would that make me imagine my oldest friend? But why would I be imagining him looking so different from the last time I'd seen him? I closed my eyes and shook my head, attempting to get rid of the apparition.

When I opened my eyes, he was still there and he was moving towards the door.

It was really him.

Without really thinking, I slid out of the small booth, dropped some money on the table, and followed him, pulling my leather jacket on as I moved and patting my pockets to make sure everything was in place.

Outside, the noise and closeness of the packed bar gave way to a windy and warm night. It wasn't silent, but it was much quieter than the pub. I could smell rain on the air, hear thunder in the distance. Like Gotham, London was bright, even at night, lit by the dull orangey glow from the street lights and reflected light. It was easy to keep eyes on Bruce, to follow his path through a nearly deserted are of the city, even though he was moving quickly, with determination, and I was having a hard time catching up with him. I would have called out, but my voice seemed lost somewhere between my brain and my lips.

I needn't have concerned myself with getting his attention.

He turned a corner several blocks beyond the pub and I momentarily lost sight of him. I hurried to follow, but he was nowhere to be seen. I stopped, wondered if I'd imagined him after all, if I was losing my mind. The silence and stillness hummed in my ears, interrupted by a clap of thunder.

I sighed, made to turn back.

And then someone shoved me into the wall of the nearby building, brick scraping my neck and digging into my shoulders as an arm pressed tight against my throat. My vision quickly started to blur, black spots dancing across my eyes, and I coughed as I tried to get a breath. My chest was beginning to ache. I clawed at the arm against my neck, wishing I could reach bare skin to do some damage. I tried to scream, to call for help, but the words wouldn't come.

"Why are you following me?"

I gasped, coughed, kept clawing at the arm. It was him! That was his voice! I hadn't been hallucinating! Even though I was being strangled, I was happy. It was probably the most bizarre feeling I had ever experienced.

The pressure against my windpipe lessened enough to allow me to speak but not to move. I wrapped my hands around his arm and made myself smile, though the expression probably looked a little strained and I wasn't even sure he could see it in the gloom. A car went by, its headlights illuminating the alley, street, whatever it was we were on, and I heard a minute noise that might have been a gasp. It was hard to tell past the rushing of blood in my ears.

He stepped closer, his arm falling away from my neck, the details of his face resolving in a patch of dim light. His hazel eyes were wide, surprised. I let go and sucked in a deep breath, coughing on the exhale. I doubled over, the muscles of my abdomen twitching painfully as I propped myself up with hands on my knees.

"Nice to see you too Bruce," I choked out.

"Eleanor." His voice was full of disbelief.

I straightened and smiled again, hoping the gesture looked more genuine. He grabbed my forearm, supporting me as I began to cough again, and I wrapped my fingers around his arm in return, leaning into that support. It felt good to be able to touch him, to know he was real. I felt tears pressing at my eyes and I wasn't sure if they were from lack of air or relief at seeing him and I wasn't sure it mattered. When the coughing fit passed, I stood up and leaned against the wall. I was smiling again. My eyes were watering.

Thunder cracked overhead and the area was momentarily bright as daylight as lightning lit the sky.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Well, aside from getting my windpipe crushed by you, I've been exploring jolly old England. I just graduated and this is my celebration."

"You were following me."

He said it like I should have expected to be attacked. Maybe I should have, maybe I should have called out, but I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "I was a little surprised to see you; caught me off guard. I didn't exactly stop to think it through. You were leaving the pub and I didn't want to lose sight of you. I thought I was hallucinating. It's been over a year, Bruce." I shrugged with one shoulder, tried to appear nonchalant.

Something passed over Bruce's face, but it was gone in a second and his face was blank, unreadable. He'd always been good at hiding what he was feeling, even before his parents had been murdered. It usually made having a conversation difficult. It had always made being his friend a challenge. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. His face transformed with those two words and I knew they were genuine. He looked… almost vulnerable. "It's been a long year."

I waved it off. "I'll be fine. Maybe a little bruised, but I'll survive."

He opened his mouth to say something, but the storm chose that moment to break. Thunder rumbled loudly again, vibrating the glass in the old building behind me, and chill rain began to pour down, instantly soaking through my shirt beneath my unzipped jacket. My jeans began to stick to my skin. Great. Wet jeans were my favourite. Bruce turned and started jogging, knowing that I would follow.

He moved down to the end of the block and opened a narrow door I wouldn't have even noticed, stepping into a narrow entrance hall. There were doors to the left and right and a wall-to-wall staircase in front. It was narrow and steep. I want to get the excess water off, but Bruce was already halfway up the stairs by the time the door had closed behind me, leaving me no choice but to follow. At the top of the stairs were three more doors. Bruce went in the one to the left. He never waited for me to catch up, or checked to see that I was following him. Maybe that should have bothered me, but it didn't.

The apartment turned out to be tiny, barely enough room for one person, and sparsely furnished. I didn't think Bruce had been there long, and I knew he wasn't staying. The main room was a kitchen, living room, and dining room combined. A bedroom, all the space swallowed by a bed and a dresser, lay through a door to the right, and what I assumed would be the bathroom on the left. There were no personal touches in the apartment; there weren't even any dishes in the sink. From what I could see of the bed, it didn't look like it had been slept in recently.

I stood on the mat just inside the door and studied the place. Bruce, who had vanished into the bedroom, returned with a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and handed them to me. He'd already changed out of his wet clothes and was dressed in another pair of jeans and a sweater. I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my socks and padded across the thin carpet to the bathroom. After I changed into the baggy clothes, pulling the drawstring as tight as I could on the pants, I wrung my clothes out and hung the wet garments from the shower curtain rod and returned to the living room.

"How long have you been in London?" I asked, peering out the window at the driving rain. Lightning lit the sky and in the flash, the streets of London looked deserted.

"Almost a month."

"What brought you here?"

"Do you want some tea?"

I sighed, a small exhale of breath, and leaned against the window, my head making a dull thud against the glass. I knew that tone of voice. He wasn't going to elaborate on his being in London. Fine. I didn't need to know, I guess. "Yeah, thanks." I moved to the couch and plopped down, curling my legs underneath me. The sweats were nice and warm; even though I'd wrung my hair out best I could, I was still cold.

"Is your throat okay?"

I looked up as he spoke and took the mug he pressed into my hands. It was deliciously hot and smelled delightful. It had milk and sugar, just like I liked. I closed my eyes as I inhaled the scent. I felt the couch give as Bruce sat down. I opened my eyes and found Bruce giving me a look somewhere between authoritative and inquisitive.

"Yeah, it's just going to bruise like I thought," I said as I tilted my head back for him to look. "You know, both my parents are doctors. I do know something about diagnosing injuries."

Bruce didn't say anything, just ran his fingers lightly along the outline of the forming bruise, gently pressed against my throat. Evidently, he decided that I was going to be okay, because he sat back and didn't say anything else. We settled into silence, with only the noise of the storm outside to break the quiet. It wasn't necessarily an awkward silence, but it certainly wasn't comfortable. At one point in our friendship, it would have been, but it had been a long time since we were that close. I was trying to think of something to say, a question to ask that he might actually answer, but I couldn't. I guess I was still dealing with my surprise at having run into him.

He'd vanished from Gotham just over a year ago, after the trial and subsequent shooting of Joe Chill, the man who'd murdered his parents. Just gone without so much as a word. He hadn't even said goodbye to Alfred Pennyworth, the man who had raised him.

"Are you heading home soon?" Bruce asked, drawing me out of my thoughts.

I turned on the couch so my back was against the arm and I could draw my knees up to my chest. I was glad to have something to talk about. "Yeah, I leave in a couple days. I've seen a lot, but I've still got some exploring to do," I answered with a smile. "But I've got to get back to Gotham soon so I can get things in order before I start my job at Wayne Enterprises at the beginning of the month. Mr. Fox managed to get me a position in Archives."

Bruce nodded like he wasn't surprised by the information. Maybe he wasn't.

"Did… you want me to tell Alfred anything when I get back? Rachel?" I asked tentatively. "Or should I just not mention that I ran into you at all?"

One of his eyebrows rose as he face turned sceptical. One corner of his mouth turned up. Glad to know I was amusing. "You've talked to Rachel?"

I rolled my eyes. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that he focused on that. Rachel and I had never been known for getting along. "Well, sort of. There was more yelling involved than talking, but she seemed to think I'd know where you were."

"Why would she think that?"

I shrugged, took a sip of my tea. "Probably because I try to have lunch with Alfred a few times a month and she assumed you would have kept in contact with him at least. Actually, I assumed the same thing. But he doesn't seem overly surprised that you haven't contacted him, though he is worried about you. He's told me that much." I stared down at the remaining liquid in my mug, suddenly shy. "We're all worried about you, Bruce."

Bruce was quiet for quite some time, but this silence was a thoughtful one. I watched subtle emotions play over his face and wondered what exactly he was thinking. When his hazel eyes turned back towards me, his face was unreadable. "You can tell them you saw me, if you want. And tell them I'm fine."

I looked around at the dingy apartment and then at Bruce, making sure he could tell I was looking at his dishevelled state. "Are you sure you're fine?" I asked, attempting to make my voice light.

"I'm fine."

Apparently I hadn't been successful. I sighed and sunk back into the couch, draining my tea as I did so. "I'll tell them."

That dreaded silence descended again and I wanted to scream. Couldn't he just tell me why he was here? What he was doing? Why he'd left Gotham in the first place? Just about the time I was about to get up and actually scream, Bruce rose from the couch and proceeded into the kitchen, taking my empty mug with him. As I watched him wash the mugs and place them in the cupboard, I noticed his eyes darting to the digital numbers of the stove clock.

"Do I need to leave?"

Bruce looked towards the windows and the still-driving rain. "It would probably be best."

I wanted to ask why, to probe until I got some information from him, anything, but he was speaking in that tone of voice, so I knew it would be useless. I got up off the couch and walked into the bathroom, pulling on my jacket and balling up my wet clothes before proceeding back to the entrance hall and shoving my feet back into my sneakers, cringing at the feel of wet fabric. When I straightened, Bruce was standing a couple feet away, arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm keeping these clothes," I blurted.

Bruce gave that small smile with one corner of his mouth and I felt myself smile in response. The expression didn't last long, though. "I don't know if I'm ever returning to Gotham."

Any trace of joviality vanished with that statement. I just nodded; it was all I could do. If I was being honest with myself, I'd expected as much. If he'd meant to come back, he would have made some sort of contact with Alfred or stopped back in Gotham or something, anything. Instead of fumbling for words, I stepped forward and gave Bruce a quick hug before retreating out of the apartment, fishing my cell phone out of my pocket as I moved. I called for a taxi and huddled in the corner by the door, peering out the tiny window, watching and waiting and wondering why my eyes were suddenly leaking.


	2. Gotham's Favoured Son

_Six years later, Gotham City._

"Eleanor, hurry it up! We're going to be late!"

I groaned loud enough for Sarah to hear out in the living room. "Give me a minute! I've got more hair than you. It takes a long time to get it all up."

"So leave it down." My friend's face appeared around the doorframe. "It looks good down." Her strawberry blonde locks were already curled and twisted into an artful pile on top of her head, her tanned face highlighted with minimal makeup. She was already dressed as well, a floor-length teal gown she'd bought just for the occasion. I hated her a little bit in that moment. "Or let me do something with it. You are hopeless."

"Thanks for that," I snapped. But I sat my butt down on the stool that had been dragged in from the kitchen and let her work on my hair while I stared at my reflection in the mirror and pouted. My arms were crossed and everything.

I don't wear makeup very often, but I was wearing it now. I was only wearing enough to bring attention to my cobalt eyes, what I considered to be my best feature, but it didn't matter. It still looked fake. I always thought makeup looked so fake, but if I didn't wear it, I would look pasty and sick next to the tanned and made-up society darlings. I would look like I didn't fit in, instead of just feeling like I didn't fit in.

Sarah fit right in. She always had. Her father was a lawyer, her mother an heiress to some shipping empire. High society was in her blood and she'd been trained for it since she was born. She actually liked getting dressed up and spending the nights dancing and drinking and connecting and she went to every party she could. Me, I preferred lounging around my loft in jeans and a t-shirt, or my pyjamas, watching television or reading. That was why, whenever I was actually attending a party, Sarah came over beforehand to help me look presentable. I only went to the parties my parents, adoptive parents, we making an appearance at. They were both surgeons—cardiothoracic for Dad and neonatal for Mom—so, thankfully, it didn't happen that often, but it was happening tonight.

"Did you see the news today?" Sarah asked as she ran the flat iron through my red-brown hair. She was an expert at ignoring my pouty face.

"No. What were you doing watching the news?"

She poked me in the shoulder and frowned at me in the mirror. "They were doing a piece about the best dressed bachelors in Gotham."

I smirked at her. "Ah. I knew it had to be something like that."

"You shut up or I'm going to burn your hair off."

"Fine, fine. Truce," I said with hands raised, as if I was showing that I was unarmed. "What was on the news that you wanted to tell me about?"

Sarah's smile turned devious, as it did when she knew she was about to say something shocking, something that would get a reaction out of me. She held her silence for another moment as she straightened my hair. "There are rumours floating around that Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham."

Everything slammed to a stop. Not really, of course, but that's what it felt like. Sarah continued to pull the hot appliance through my hair, her eyes alternating between her work and my face in the mirror, watching for any sort of reaction, but I just sat there and stared straight ahead.

It couldn't be true, could it? He had been declared dead several years ago, and I had believed it. Sure, I had seen him in London years ago, but that didn't mean he was still alive. No one had heard from him since then, no one knew what he'd been up to. But if he was still alive, if he'd come back to Gotham… He would have called or stopped by, right? No, no. He wouldn't have. He'd tell me he was back when he wanted to, if he wanted to, if he didn't want to soak up the media hubbub his return would create. We'd been close friends once, but that didn't mean we still were. That had been a long time ago.

I tried to content myself with that, but it lasted for less than a minute. If I didn't see him tonight, if he didn't contact me soon, I'd march over to Wayne Manor and find him myself. Or call Alfred.

If he was even back.

"Are you okay?"

I gave my head a small shake as I realized I must have been silent for a while, stuck in a loop of similar thoughts. "Yeah, sorry. Just caught off guard by that news, I guess."

"I can't believe you haven't heard those rumours before. They've been around for a couple months apparently."

I rolled my eyes. "And when would I have had time to hear those rumours? I don't keep up with the celebrity news, even if I have time."

"Yeah, yeah, I know how you feel about all that." Sarah was silent for a few minutes as she continued to work on my hair, probably planning what she was going to do with it. "Do you think he'll show up tonight? This is a Wayne Foundation event."

"He's been gone for a long time, Sarah, and the Wayne Foundations events have continued on without him all that time. He never liked these things, anyway." Sarah placed the flat iron on the counter and quickly pulled back my hair into a collection of braids that left my face bare, framed by a fall of hair. It looked good. I got to my feet and pushed past Sarah. "I'll get dressed and then we can go. We'll be fashionably late."

I think Sarah replied, but I didn't hear what she said. I was back in my thoughts, memories.

I crossed my loft the bedroom and stepped into the walk-in closet that held far too many dresses. I stared at the colourful array before finally picking out one of my favourites: a bright blue, floor-length gown with a halter top that was fastened behind my neck with a clip made of onyx and silver. If there was the potential for awkward situations tonight, I wanted to be as comfortable as I could be in a dress. I pulled on a pair of strappy black heels, added some black bracelets and earrings and then grabbed my clutch and joined Sarah in the living room.

"Your expression doesn't match the dress," she said. She wasn't smiling. She looked worried.

I flashed her the most over-exaggerated and meaningless smile I could and stepped out into the hall. With a flourish, I gestured her out of my apartment and locked the door behind her. I followed her down to where the car would be waiting. Sarah always called for a car.

I wanted nothing more than to go back upstairs and climb into bed.

Twenty minutes later however, I found myself standing in the gold-tinted ballroom of a fancy hotel, a glass of red wine in one hand. I was standing to the side of the dance floor, watching the people spin and twirl, my eyes every now and again finding my parents, Liam and Naomi Black, as they danced and laughed and enjoyed themselves, or Sarah as she made her way from dance partner to dance partner. I knew a few others at the party, and I'd made my casual hellos, but my stupid overly-hopeful brain was on high alert for any sign of Bruce, and I didn't feel much like dancing.

"Ellie!"

I smiled at the approaching red-headed force of my mother. She looked younger than she was; the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks helped the illusion. Naomi enjoyed these parties and, since she didn't get to attend all that often, she was always full of energy whenever in attendance. She was practically skipping currently, her maroon gown swishing around her legs. I didn't know how she managed it, especially after working all day.

"Hey Mom."

"Why aren't you dancing? There are plenty of good-looking single men around." She winked at me and I felt the urge to slap my palm against my forehead.

"Honey, have you ever seen Eleanor dance more than once or twice at one of these things?" my father asked as he joined us. He gave me a quick smile before leaning down to place a quick kiss on his wife's cheek and pressed a glass of champagne into her hand. He was tall and thin, with black hair he kept short. His green eyes sparked with amusement and admiration for his wife. "You know she just shows up to make you happy."

"Grandchildren would make me happy."

I rolled my eyes. "Mom!" It was an old conversation. I was twenty-eight and, in Naomi's eyes, that meant I should have a steady boyfriend, maybe even a fiancé or a husband, and be well on my way to children. In the eyes of a lot of people, that was true. "I'm going to go get some food," I said, accepting the apologetic look from Dad.

I made my way to the opposite end of the ballroom, to a long table laden with all sorts of food I couldn't name. It all looked fantastic. Some of it even smelled the same. I'd been hungry for some time. It was a good time to dig in.

As luck would have it, I was halfway through my second plate of appetizers when Bruce Wayne walked through the door, a beautiful woman on each arm.

The whole room turned to look, though conversations didn't exactly stop or anything so dramatic as that. But no one missed the entrance of Bruce Wayne.

I had another one of those world-slamming-to-a-stop moments as I watched him move through the doorway. He was alive. Part of me couldn't believe it and part of me had never doubted that he would return. He was alive and he looked every inch the billionaire he was, dressed in an expertly tailored charcoal suit, with his hair freshly cut. He'd come a long way from the rugged and worn man I'd run into in London six years ago.

I placed my empty wine glass and plate on the table and strode across the floor, heels clicking against the marble. There was a smile on my face. I was happy. Relieved. Bruce clocked my approach almost immediately.

He flashed me a brilliant grin, a superficial thing. There was nothing behind it.

I stopped myself, confused by the person in front of me. He wasn't the Bruce I'd known when I was younger, and he wasn't the Bruce I'd stumbled up on in London. By bringing myself to a halt, however, I allowed for the rest of the interested people in the room to overtake me, to swarm Bruce. It suddenly became very loud and busy right where I was standing, so I extracted myself and made my way back to the buffet table, intending to take refuge on the opposite side of it from the hubbub. More food sounded like a good alternative than facing this new, vacant Bruce.

I didn't make it back to the table. Sarah took over my field of vision, her grey eyes wide and glued to the door where Mr. Wayne was being held.

"I told you he was back!"

"You told me his return was a rumour," I snapped.

Sarah held her hands up, palms forward. "Hey, it's not like I brought him back."

I sighed. "I know. I'm sorry, Sarah."

She placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. "It's okay." Her face, normally full of joviality, turned serious. "Do you want to leave?"

I looked over my shoulder at Bruce, who had now moved into the room proper, the well-to-do of Gotham who'd flocked to him having fanned out and moved back to the dance floor or their conversations. He was dancing with one of his dates. The other one was nowhere to be seen. When I turned to reply to Sarah's question, she too had vanished. I huffed, hands on my hips. I must have been silent for too long for her; since the band was playing a different song than they had been when Bruce had walked in, that seemed likely. The current song ended and a light touch settled on my shoulders.

I jumped. Almost cursed, but stopped myself just in time. Swearing was frowned upon. Delicate ears of the well-to-do and all that.

"You never used to be so jumpy," Bruce said.

I turned and was immediately swept onto the dance floor. I frowned as deep as I could at him and resisted the urge to stomp on his foot. "Hi Bruce. Welcome home." I made sure to put as much sarcasm in my voice as I could.

"You aren't happy to see me?"

I sighed and settled into his arms, and let him lead me around the floor. "Of course I'm happy to see you, Bruce. We all thought you were dead, so I'd… resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't going to see you again," I admitted quietly. "And now you're here, without any warning and acting like a brainless fool." I moved closer to him as we turned a corner on the dance floor, his hand slid around to the small of my back. I shivered a little at the touch. "Are you back for good?"

"For now. A brainless fool?"

I looked up at him, mouth quirked. "Just tell me when you're going to vanish next time, okay? I don't really want to end up choked in an alley while exploring the world. Or have to wonder if you're dead or alive. It was like six years with Schrodinger's Cat."

He chuckled. "I'll try and let you know if I'm about to vanish again."

It wasn't exactly a promise, but I hadn't really expected one. Even when he was little, Bruce had been prudent with his promises. I smiled up at Bruce and let the joy at seeing my friend rise to the surface, past the surprise at seeing him, and the anger that I'd had no warning at his return.

"You look good, Bruce. Much better than the last time I saw you."

He gave me a small smile. "It's been a long time since I was skulking around in alleyways." He spun me around and then pulled me close again, taking up the position as if he'd never left the world where he'd have to know how to ballroom dance. "You look good too, Ellie."

I felt my cheeks flush, both at the compliment and the use of the nickname. It'd been a long time since anyone other than my parents had called me that. "Thanks," I mumbled.

We didn't talk much as we continued to spin around the floor, but I didn't mind. As the song came to an end, I found myself pointed towards the door and well-positioned to see Rachel Dawes enter the room.

"Rachel's here," I told Bruce as I stepped back.

He turned to look immediately, and I saw the smile on his face. It was a real smile, the real Bruce, not the vacant mask I'd seen before, and not the man I'd seen in London. I felt a twitch deep inside at that expression and wasn't sure of the cause. I may not have liked Rachel much—we'd never really gotten along—but it should have made me happy to see Bruce so happy, right? I shouldn't have felt… jealous.

Oh boy, I did not want to touch that with a ten foot pole.

"Hello Bruce," Rachel said as she approached. She didn't hug him, but she did smile, touch his arm. Spotting me around Bruce's shoulder, she gave a small nod. "Eleanor."

"Rachel." I stepped a little closer to Bruce, drawing his attention back to me, if only for a moment. "I'm going to head home. Good to have you back in Gotham, Bruce."

I got a smile with about half the wattage of the one Rachel had. That twitchy feeling was back. "Good night."

"'Night."

I gave Rachel a nod as I passed her. Suddenly, getting to the door and away from Bruce and Rachel seemed to be about the only thing that mattered. I didn't get very far, however. A hand closed around my upper arm and hauled me to the side. Sarah had a knack for showing up exactly when I was trying to get somewhere. I wanted to scream. Or hit her. Or something. I settled for my best glare and crossed my arms under my breasts. It occurred somewhere in the middle of forming the expression that I was acting childish.

"I want to go home, Sarah. I have to work early."

"That's a bullshit reason, but fine. Do you want me to make excuses to your parents or are you going to do it?" Sarah sounded exasperated, but I knew she'd do what she said. She was a good friend.

I gave her a hug and told her so. "I'll talk to my parents. I'll see you tomorrow after work?"

"You bet."

After making my goodbyes to my parents—my mother was very insistent that I stay, but with my father's help, I managed to get away—I hailed a cab and made my way home. I took the elevator up to the top floor and opened my loft, one of only four doors on the floor. The building was silent, and the television sounded incredibly loud when I turned on the news. I liked to have background noise when it was this late and this quiet. No one else on the floor had complained as of yet.

_"There have been reports of a masked man running across the rooftops of Gotham. He's been spotted near the Midtown police station and was headed North, according to an eye witness."_

I stopped in my nightly routine to watch the footage on the screen. As I pulled my sleep shirt—actually a very, very large and soft t-shirt—over my head, the screen switched to a blurry cell phone video tracking across the skyline of matching apartment buildings. The dim orange glow from the city illuminated the shape of a man, hunched and running fast. His movements were practiced and sure. It was fascinating to watch.

_"It is unclear whether or not this man presents a threat, but residents of the area are advised to keep their doors and windows locked and to report any further sightings or any strange occurrences to the Gotham City police department."_

The news anchor, a middle-aged man with silver hair and a friendly face, started in on some other story, but I wasn't interested. A masked man running over the rooftops of Gotham? That was interesting. Almost without a thought, I moved to the window and peered out into the night. Somewhere a church bell chimed midnight and I almost expected to see the dark figure; weren't things like that supposed to happen at midnight? But nothing happened. I watched the rooftops for another few minutes before I finally gave up and climbed into bed. I really did have to work in the morning.

I dreamed that night, of Bruce Wayne and the masked man, and of Gotham in flames. Needless to say, I didn't sleep very well and when I awoke, my eyes were blurry and I was exhausted.


	3. The Masked Man

As it was Saturday, the offices of Wayne Enterprises were almost completely deserted. I passed a couple janitors and some employees hurrying to meet a deadline or just put in some overtime, but the normal hustle and bustle of the place was absent. I knew down in Research and Development, the offices and labs would be packed—they almost always were—but I was rarely down on those levels anymore. My initial position at Wayne Enterprises had been as a clerk in Archives, but a year and a half ago, when Mr. Earle's, the CEO of the company, office assistant had retired, I'd been promoted to the position. It usually kept me upstairs where I'd be at his beck and call.

Most of the time, I liked my job, but when it involved me coming in on Saturdays to check over financial records, schedule meetings, read through piles of requests, ideas, and plans and select the ones Mr. Earle would read himself, I thought about quitting. Sometimes I thought Mr. Earle saved all this work until the end of the week just so he could ask me on Friday night to spend my Saturday working. I didn't begrudge the overtime pay, but man, was I glad I was just his office assistant and not his personal assistant; that guy—what was his name? Sam Parker?—always looked like he was about to snap.

The elevator opened onto a very empty top floor. I was wearing my favourite pair of worn blue Chucks with jeans and an old sweater I'd dug out of the bottom of a drawer—it was the one Bruce had given me that night in London six years ago; I'd forgot I'd still had it—so I moved rather silently through the halls, though my laptop bag and purser kept clinging together. When I opened the blinds in Mr. Earle's office, the light that spilled in created an island, made the shadows on the rest of the floor that much heavier and the solitude that much more apparent.

I dropped into the big chair and turned on the computer, inputting my username and password in order to access the files Mr. Earle wanted me to look over. There was also a thick stack of files in a folder sitting in the middle of the blotter with a note requesting I go through them as well, and I go through them first. I stared at the note for a second before deciding it could wait until the computer had finished loading. I settled back in the chair and closed my eyes, one leg crossed over the other.

I may have stayed there, asleep, if it hadn't been for the shrill ring of the phone.

I jolted upright and almost threw myself out of the chair in the process. Managing to catch myself on the desk, I grabbed the phone with one hand. "Mr. Earle's office, Ms. Black speaking."

_"Hello Ms. Black."_

"Mr. Fox! Lucius! Hi! How are you? What are you doing in on a Saturday?"

Lucius Fox was the head of Applied Sciences, a department that was mostly in charge of cataloguing and storing unused or unwanted Wayne Enterprises technology. At least, that's what it had been in charge of for as long as I'd been with the company. I'd had little opportunity to explore the department when I had worked in Archives. Mr. Fox was the only employee in the department, and sometimes, whether it was from something he said or just a gut feeling, I got the impression that the department used to be more. I'd brought it up once with Mr. Earle, but he'd just told me it was none of my concern and given me enough paperwork to keep me busy for three days. I'd never brought it up with Mr. Fox.

_"I'm quite well. There's been some sort of mix-up with a shipment of inventory from one of the companies we own in China, and Mr. Earle insinuated that if I didn't tend to it as soon as possible, there would be consequences."_

"Why is a shipping mix-up your problem?"

_"Because the items being shipped were to be stored in Applied Sciences, away from the eyes of the world."_

My eyes dropped to the pile of paper on the desk. I propped the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I flipped open the folder, following a sudden hunch I was hoping would prove to be false. It wasn't. "I see something about it here… along with a request to do an inventory count of Applied Sciences, and I'm quoting here, 'as soon as you read this memo.'" I sighed and leaned forward over the desk, the bridge of my nose pinched between my thumb and forefinger. "You haven't acquired millions of new items down there since the last time I visited, have you?"

A chuckle came down the line and I felt myself smile. _"I wouldn't say millions, but I have consolidated some more of the Wayne Enterprises collection."_

"Well I guess I'll see just how much in a few minutes. Want me to bring coffee or anything down?" I asked as I started gathering up the things I'd need for doing inventory. Mr. Earle had done a spectacular job of making sure all the tools I'd need were right there.

_"I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee and some of that apple coffee cake from the cart in the lobby."_

I smiled and nodded, before I remembered that he couldn't see it. "Sure thing Lucius. I'll see you in a few."

I hung up the phone and shoved the paperwork I'd need into my laptop bag before slinging it over my shoulder. My purse followed. I closed the blinds, plunging the office once more into darkness, and paused a moment for my eyes to adjust. A few moments later, I was in the elevator on the way down to the lobby, and a few moments after that, I was in a different elevator leading down to Applied Sciences, now juggling two cardboard cups of hot liquid and two plates of coffee cake in addition to my bags. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, revealing Lucius Fox standing there, ready and waiting to relieve some of my burdens.

I gave a wide smile as we proceeded to the large desk Lucius had set up nearby. Despite the amount of stuff on the desk, it was neat and organized. One end of the L-shaped surface was clear, so it was there that Lucius set the food down. He wheeled his chair over as I retrieved the extra seat from a workstation. Somehow, the wiry African-American man looked perfectly at home.

"Have you see Mr. Wayne yet?" Lucius asked as we set to our food.

I swallowed my mouthful of cake and chewed on my lip. "I, uh, saw him last night at the Wayne Foundation thing. Why? He was here?"

Lucius nodded. "A while ago, actually. Apparently he asked Mr. Earle for a job in my department."

"Huh. I guess I shouldn't be so surprised he wanted to be involved in his father's company." I stared at my cake, trying to figure out why Bruce would pick Applied Sciences. Maybe he hadn't known what the department was? Bruce was highly intelligent, so Research and Development would have been more fitting. Oh well. "Do you think he'll take up a place on the board?"

Lucius swallowed his bite of cake, took a sip of coffee. "Maybe, but I think he'll have to return to the living first."

"Ha, I guess so. I forgot that he's legally dead. I was kind of shocked into silence when he showed up last night."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Really? You, silent? I can't imagine."

I snorted into my tea and gave Lucius a slightly indignant look over the edge of my cup.

We chatted idly as we finished our breakfast, the conversation revolving mostly around the event of the night before, and then I began setting up for the task of taking inventory. Applied Sciences was housed below the rest of Wayne Enterprises in a cavernous room more like a warehouse or a bunker than anything else. Lucius kept the place in semi-darkness, rarely having reason to venture beyond his desk and the workstations scattered about, but he turned on all the overhead lights, the bulbs buzzing as the rows of crates and containers came into view.

Barcode scanner, list, and pencil in hand—Wayne Enterprises had implemented an inventory system that was both computerized and manual two years ago—I sucked in a deep breath and stepped into the wealth of items.

-

Several long and rather boring hours later, I rode the elevator back up to the top floor to deposit the finished inventory list on my desk, along with the USB drive containing the digital list. Lucius had spent most of the day on the phone with various people in China, but he had eventually got the shipping mix-up sorted out, and then had offered to help me finish my task. I'd accepted, since I wanted to get home as soon as possible. I'd talked Lucius into going home at six o'clock, though. He had people to go home to, and I could finish the counts by myself; at that point, I had only had about a hundred items left.

So, alone, I made my way out to the parking garage, keys clutched in one hand, eyes glued on my car, parked in its usual parking spot. Near a light, of course.

A light that was out.

After the bright lights of Applied Sciences, the darkness seemed a physical thing, pressing in from all sides, filling the room. I wasn't normally afraid of the dark but something was making me twitch and shiver; my thoughts turned to the masked man from the news the night before. Was he out there? Was he a threat? Was he lurking around the shadows, attacking people?

I shook my head and stepped out of the circle of light near the door, trying to move quickly. I made it halfway across the parking lot, thought I was home free.

A hand shot out from behind a pillar, strong fingers pressing painfully into my wrist, and yanked me off course, spinning me into the darkness and slamming me into the same pillar. The impact was abrupt, violent, and it knocked some of the air from my lungs, cutting of my scream. I gasped, trying to inhale a satisfactory breath.

The hand moved from my wrist, and I tried to push away, but those fingers closed around my neck and pushed me back against the stone.

My assailant moved closer, arm bending at the elbow; oddly, my mind turned to that moment in the alleyway in London, all those years ago, when Bruce had similarly attacked me. He sneered through crooked yellow teeth, his eyes black, his mouth cruel. His other hand began plunging through my bags, my pockets, groping for anything of value. I struggled, but my air was leaving me. I tried to cry out, managed a rough sort of snarl.

"Shut up bitch," the man snapped. "This'll be over soon."

He moved to one side slightly, probably to get better leverage into my big purse, and allowed me enough room to throw my knee up towards his groin. If I hadn't been gasping for air, the attack might have had some more power behind it. As it was, it served as more of an annoyance, but it was enough to get him to let go of my throat. He grabbed the straps of my bag and a handful of my sweater as I threw myself towards my car, fumbled for my phone—if I made it out of this, I was never keeping my phone in my purse again.

"Let her go," a new voice rumbled.

The mugger froze, his grip going slack on me. I pulled myself free, stumbled forward a few steps, straightened and then had to double over again as I began to cough.

From the shadows, an arm thick with muscle snagged the attacker by his grimy jacket, dragged him into the darkness. I heard the meaty sounds of a fist connecting with flesh, the grunts and groans that accompanied a beating. I was scared. Gasping and shaking.

Was this the masked man who had been running around Gotham? Was he going to attack me next? Or was he helping me?

I took a few, slow steps back. I'd dropped my keys when I'd been attacked. I needed to find them, but I didn't want to look away from that spot of darkness. I swept my feet out as I walked backwards hoping, hoping I'd hear that clink of metal as my keys scraped against the concrete.

When I bumped into something, I let out another scream and spun around, my bags sliding from my arm; I caught them, but it was a near thing. I was too busy staring at a figure, seemingly swathed in shadows. Shadows that moved. Dark eyes stared out at me, the gaze intense and heavy. My brain was screaming to turn and run away, to get out of the confined space, but my feet weren't obeying. My heartbeat was thudding in my ears, my muscles aching with the attack and with adrenaline.

"What do you want?" I managed. My voice was raspy and quiet.

A hand extended from the shadows, and I could have sworn the darkness peeled back from the movement. Something sparkled in a stray beam of light. "You dropped your keys."

I blinked. Immobile as I was, I did manage to snap back long enough to catch the keys when he tossed them towards me. "Uh… thanks." I peered harder at the shadows, trying to make out any bit of detail I could. "Who are you?"

I didn't get an answer. The masked man was gone.

How had he moved so quickly, so silently? With me staring right at him?

I shook my head and jogged the remaining distance to my car, climbed in, and left that parking garage as soon as I could. I didn't see my attacker, didn't know what happened to him, and didn't really care if I was being honest.

As I was turning into my loft's parking lot, the shaking began. I parked in my spot and unbuckled my seatbelt, but I didn't make it any farther than that. The adrenaline washed out of my system, I doubled over the steering wheel and cried, my body shaking violently. I couldn't remember ever having been so scared in my life. You heard about people getting mugged all the time in Gotham, heard about attacks and rapes and murders, but you never thought about it happening to you, even if you took all the precautions the police suggested. You never thought it could happen to you.

And I didn't even want to think what would have happened had the masked stranger not shown up when he did.

Who was he?


	4. A Protector?

Sunday passed in a haze of paperwork and phone calls from Mr. Earle, most of which were of the louder variety. For a successful CEO, he was a very impatient man. Still, I managed to get through everything I hadn't done on Saturday. I wasn't at the office for very long and it was still light outside when I left, thank God. I was able to cross the distance between the door and my car with only a brief flutter of panic inside. The police had received an anonymous call and had come to retrieve my attacker, who they'd found handcuffed to a pipe on the wall—it had been all over the news that morning—but I still got nervous passing the spot where the attack had happened.

The interesting thing was that it hadn't been the only anonymous call the police had received that had led to an arrest, either. Over the past week, they'd received several calls, giving them a location where they would find someone waiting, unconscious or very, very scared. Someone with a rap sheet. The masked man had turned out to be a sort of guardian angel for the city. One made of shadow, one who only came out when it was dark, but still a guardian angel.

Something, in my opinion, Gotham sorely needed.

The city had never really recovered from the depression of twenty-odd years ago and crime—especially organized crime—had done nothing but rise, particularly after the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Bruce's parents had been avid philanthropists, donating money to various causes, backing housing projects, providing cheap transportation in the form of a monorail that ran throughout the city. Thomas had even provided his surgical skills pro bono for those who couldn't afford the medical care they needed.

But so much had changed. The police, the lawyers, the judges, were corrupt, half of them in the pocket of Carmine Falcone, the leader of Gotham's crime syndicate, the other half too scared to say or do anything against him. Everyone knew it. No one could do anything. Most people just tried to find a way to live their lives without pissing the wrong person off. Other people tried to ignore the seedier aspects of Gotham and stayed in the suburbs on the mainland, or firmly entrenched in their glittering apartments and ballrooms.

There were those who fought against the corruption, though. Rachel, as much as she and I didn't get a long, had fought hard ever since she began interning at the DA's office years ago. She'd gone to law school so she could fight. Her boss, as far as I could tell, was all for a better Gotham, but hadn't been able to get much done. They were bound by the system.

Someone operating outside the system might be able to bring about actual change. Someone like the masked man, whoever he was.

I stopped stirring my dinner and gave my head a shake. What was I thinking? No one could actively fight against the crime in Gotham for long without becoming corrupt. Falcone would find their price, buy them off, and they would become just another thug, another person to fear, or someone else to sit by and do nothing. And that was only if they could find a way to operate outside the system—either the judicial system or the criminal system. It seemed impossible, but if the dude in the mask found a way to do it, more power to him.

I would continue to fight the only way I knew how. Donating, volunteering, making sure Mr. Earle and Wayne Enterprises kept the Wayne Foundation afloat so that the money could get out to the poor and the hungry and the homeless where it was needed. Maybe I'd think of something else to do someday.

I sighed and turned my eyes back to the chicken in the pan, sizzling away.

The phone rang, pulling me from any further thoughts on the subject. I'd lived in Gotham my whole life—granted, I had spent it in the better-off areas of the city—and I was as familiar with the seedier aspects of my city as I cared to be. I cradled the wireless receiver between my ear and shoulder as I added the chopped peppers to the chicken, trying—in vain, as it turned out—to keep any from falling off the side of the cutting board.

"Hello," I said as I tossed the ones that had fallen to the counter into the pan as well.

_"Hello."_

I nearly choked on my spit as I turned to drop the cutting board into the sink. I'd been expecting Sarah, returning my apologetic message about missing our run the night before, or maybe my mother or father, calling to check up on me, living in the big city. They did that from time to time, especially my mother. I hadn't expected Bruce Wayne to be on the other end of the line. No, that was about the last thing I'd expected.

"What can I do for you Mr. Wayne?" I hadn't meant for the sarcasm, but there it was. Sometimes it just leaks out.

_"I just called to see if you'd be able to help me with something, Eleanor. Is this a bad time?"_

"Ah, no. What is it?" I asked, scratching the back of my head and shifting the phone into my hand. I wasn't sure how I felt about him asking me a favour after just reappearing in the public eye, but we had been close once. I at least owed it to him to listen.

Maybe he sensed something of what I was thinking. He waited a few heartbeats before speaking. " _Would you be able to compile an overview of what Mr. Earle has done with my father's company since I left Gotham?"_ I couldn't read anything in his voice, but he didn't sound like the man I'd seen at the party. He sounded more like the intelligent man I knew he was. That sparked my interest a little. _"I realize this is a big task—"_

"Try astronomical."

_"This isn't something I need right away, and I wouldn't ask, but I doubt Mr. Earle would like me snooping around the company's files. I'm not supposed to be interested in the business beyond getting to know my father's legacy. I assured him I wasn't interested in a hostile takeover. I can't assume control of the company until I'm thirty, anyways."_

I got the feeling that a hostile takeover was exactly what he would be after when he turned thirty in a couple weeks, but I didn't say anything. "Yes, I heard you'd stopped by Wayne Enterprises. I must have missed you."

_"Eleanor."_

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the stove, stirring the chicken and peppers. I turned off the burner and poured the mixture into the waiting tortilla shell. "I guess if you don't mind waiting a little while, I can get it ready for you. It will take at least a few days. That's seven years of history, Bruce. It's a lot to get through, even for someone like me who is familiar with the Archives department." I stopped speaking to cough; my throat was still rough from being squeezed by the mugger. "I'm not really sure how I feel about going behind my boss' back, either, but I guess it is technically your company. Or your family's company, at the very least." Maybe I should have felt worse about going behind Mr. Earle's back, but I'd never been overly fond of the man and, well, Bruce was my friend.

Had been.

Whatever.

_"You'll always have a job at Wayne Enterprises."_

"That wasn't what I was getting at." I sprinkled grated cheese over the chicken and folded the shell in half before sticking the quesadilla in the oven. "But thank you. I'll, uh, get the information as soon as I can."

_"Thank you."_ There was a bit of a pause. _"Are you feeling all right?"_

"Yeah, why?"

_"You sound like you might be getting sick."_

I closed my eyes and dropped into my recliner, which creaked slightly. I hadn't wanted to tell anyone about the attack. I wasn't terribly injured, and I wasn't overly traumatized—sure, the dark seemed a little scarier than it had before and I moved a little faster through the parking garage—and there just didn't seem to be any reason to make people worried or upset. But I couldn't think of a good explanation and I'd hesitated too long to accept illness as the cause. So, in as few words as possible, I explained what had happened in the parking garage the night before.

_"Did you call the police?"_

"What are they going to do? I don't know who he was, and he didn't hurt me. He saved me. I don't think he's a threat to anyone except criminals, and they already got the guy who tried to mug me. He left the man handcuffed to a pipe. And, according to the various newspapers and websites, he's been doing the same all over the city. I think he's really trying to do something good, Bruce."

_"He could still be dangerous. It's clear he has some issues."_

"Well, whatever. I'm not going to call the police now." I stood up and crossed back to the kitchen area of my open-concept loft. I pulled the oven open to check on my dinner. Almost done. "Can I ask you something that may or may not be considered a personal question?"

_"You can ask."_

"Why did you choose to come back to Gotham now? You've been gone for so long."

Bruce was quiet for so long, I didn't think he'd answer. I used the time to turn off the oven and pull out the quesadilla, to get my plate ready and pour a glass of milk.

_"It was just time to come home,"_ he said eventually. His tone was apologetic, like he knew the answer wouldn't be enough.

It wasn't, but I didn't press. I may have been surprised by the phone call, but I was also glad that he was talking to me, seemingly drawing me back into his life. I didn't want to give him reason to stop trusting me. "I take it I'll be seeing you around the office then?"

_"I guess so."_

"All right. I won't keep you any longer." I sighed a bit, smiled at the phone. "I really am glad you're back, Bruce, whatever brought you home."

_"Good night Eleanor."_

"Oh, there is one thing I can tell you about the company that you should probably know."

_"Yes?"_

"Mr. Earle's decided to take the company public. The board just voted on it and the majority were for it, the majority being those hired after Mr. Earle was promoted to CEO. A date for the sale hasn't been nailed down yet, but it'll be soon."

_"Thank you."_

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't mention that I'm the one who told you."

_"Your secret is safe with me."_

"Good."

_"Bye, Eleanor."_

"Bye."

I hung up the phone, smiling to myself.

After I finished eating and watching the news—waiting for any stories of the masked man—I climbed the narrow metal steps up to the roof of my apartment building, pulling the sweater Bruce had given me in London on again as I moved. It flopped awkwardly around, thanks to my keys, cell phone, and book in the pockets. I hadn't worn the sweater in years since it was full of holes, but it was suddenly the most comfortable thing I owned.

The night was cool but not uncomfortable and for once, a few stars were visible between clouds of low-hanging smog; usually the sky was empty, even the moon hidden behind some skyscraper or the next, its glow washed out by the lights of the city. I took a moment to observe the rare sight. Someone who lived in the building had brought a set of patio furniture up for everyone to use a few years ago, so I dragged one of the chairs over to the parapet and sat down, crossing my ankles on top of the low wall and staring out at the dark lines of Gotham.

Below, I could hear the rush of cars, the honking of horns, and occasionally someone yelling. Across the street, there were a couple of tenants who were particularly notorious for late night/early morning screaming matches. From the little I could make it out, it sounded like they were arguing over music volume tonight. Ah, the sounds of Gotham at night. Not as overwhelming as the noise during the day, but it was true: Gotham was one of those cities that never really slept. I wondered what it would be like to live somewhere that was quiet at night, but discarded the thought quickly. I probably wouldn't be able to sleep.s

I settled farther back in the chair and pulled the paperback I was reading out of the pocket of my sweater, flipped it open and dug in. Three sentences later, I was staring at the city again, hoping to see a dark shape moving across the rooftops.

I tried not to think too hard about what the sudden fascination said about me.


	5. A Trip to the Narrows

"I have to run out to Arkham Asylum before we go out for dinner, Ellie. Do you want to come with me or do you want to wait here and I'll pick you up on my way back?"

I looked at Liam, standing just inside the doorway to my loft and smiled. We'd been trying to plan a father-daughter dinner for a while, but we kept having to postpone for various reasons, most of them being surgery. Somehow Naomi and I didn't seem to have as much trouble trying to find time to go shopping or grab a bite to eat. "I'm not going to wait around. I at least want to spend some time with you, even if we have to push dinner back again."

"All right. Well, get ready and we'll head out. I just have to pick up some patient files that were accidentally sent with a patient a few days ago. It shouldn't take too long."

"Is it really your responsibility to retrieve something like that?" I asked as I headed back towards my room to change. My loft was designed in such a way that conversation was possible with both parties anyway in the place. "Shouldn't someone lower on the hospital food chain be the one to go?"

"I volunteered. I know the doctors at the asylum, and I know how they work down there, though things have changed since Dr. Crane became the administrator. I don't mind going down to the Narrows, either."

I made some noise of acknowledgement as I changed into a pair of dark blue jeans and a red long-sleeved shirt. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, folding it through on the last loop so it looked more like a bun, and grabbed my old leather jacket from its usual place on the back of my closet door, slipping it on as I went to rejoin my Dad. We weren't going five-star dining, so I didn't have to dress up too much. I did, however, look a little more put together than normal. Back out in the front hall, I withdrew a pair of knee-high boots from the closet and zipped them on over my jeans.

"Yeah, that Dr. Crane creeps me out. Granted, I've only met him once, but still." I grabbed my wallet, keys, and cell phone from the island in the kitchen and shoved them in my pockets as I gestured for my Dad to step out into the hall. "What do you know about him?"

"Not much. He's very well educated, and he used to teach at Gotham University, but he has strange ideas and, from what I've heard, wanted to perform potentially deadly experiments on people. Naturally, he was fired from the university and I guess he ended up at Arkham."

"Huh. I guess it was the only place that would take him?"

"It seems that way. Arkham Asylum is usually in need of new staff. No one stays on very long anymore, and they don't seem bothered by the rumours surrounding him."

We'd reached the parking garage under the building via the elevator, and were making our way towards Liam's black luxury sedan in silence. Neither of us were ones to speak in a car—maybe I'd picked it up from him—so as we pulled out of my building and headed south towards the Narrows, I had lots of time to close my eyes and think about the things that had happened over the past week.

I'd finished the report for Bruce after four days. I'd copied everything onto a USB flash drive, but I'd also printed copies of everything, just in case. The resulting stack of paper had been almost a foot thick. I'd waffled back and forth about actually delivering the thing to Bruce, but eventually decided that if he wanted the company back, it was his right. Mr. Earle was only supposed to watch the company until Bruce was ready to take over, if he wanted to take over, anyway. Bruce had been thrilled to have the information, and that I'd been able to gather it so quickly, and his gratitude had made me feel a little better. Actually a lot better, but that was besides the point.

Since Mr. Earle had spent most of the week in meetings about taking the company public, and I'd had very little to do other than hold down the fort and keep on top of the incoming reports and e-mails and phone calls. Snooping through the company archives had been easy.

When I wasn't distracted by hunting down news of the masked man, that is, who had apparently adopted a cape and horned cowl and was being referred to as "The Bat" or "Batman" and who had taken down Carmine Falcone, strapping the crime boss to a spotlight down at the docks, creating a bat-shape shadow on the clouds. The police weren't happy. I wondered what they were doing about the Batman, if they were going to let him do his thing or if Commissioner Loeb was going to try and take Batman off the streets.

I wondered why I cared so much.

"Hey, wake up Ellie. We're here."

I opened my eyes, found I was in fact a little groggy. Must have dozed off. I unbuckled my seatbelt and climbed out of the car, craning my neck to look up at the towering, twisting spires of Arkham Asylum, one of the oldest buildings in Gotham City. The original buildings were about two hundred years old, and since then, more buildings had been added, each one with the style of that decade, giving it a thrown-together look. It was dark and threatening and had featured in many ghost stories and nightmares when I was little. The place creeped me out. Always had. I huffed as I shut the car door and followed Liam to the heavy front doors of the administration building; we'd already passed through the two manned gates on the long drive up.

Liam flashed his hospital ID at the booth inside the door and the young man behind the reinforced glass buzzed us into the asylum proper. We were greeted by a doctor, dressed in blue scrubs and the stereotypical white coat. He was fairly tall, with dark hair, pale eyes and a nice but tired smile. It matched the slump in his shoulders.

"Hello Dr. Black; nice to see you again," he said, stepping up to offer my father his hand.

Liam returned the shake and gestured with his other to me. "Same to you Dr. Winchester. This is my daughter, Eleanor."

I took the proffered hand and gave a small smile. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Winchester."

The three of us moved down the dimly lit halls, the doctors chatting idly about what I presumed was business while I studied the peeling paint and dented metal doors we passed. In one place, I spotted some scratches I could have sworn were made from fingernails. Maybe at one point this building had been used for more than holding paperwork and files.

I shivered at that thought.

When we arrived at Dr. Winchester's office, he explained there was an issue with the files that needed to be discussed. I got out of the chair I'd just fallen into without any prompting. As if we'd practiced the scenario, Dad tossed me the keys and I moved back through the halls, the gates, and the tension to where Liam had parked. For a moment, I sat behind the wheel, wondering where I was going to drive. The doctors would probably be at it for a least an hour. I was hungry. There was a restaurant near the bridge that I'd been to a couple times, during a drunken escape in university and once afterward. I remember it being a pretty good Italian joint. So, I started the car and took off, hoping I remembered the way.

The Narrows had morphed from low-budget tenements and tiny, privately-owned stores to a dingy, run-down sub-island of Gotham City that matched Arkham Asylum perfectly. Stray dogs and feral cats criss-crossed the roads, forcing me to slam on the brakes or hit them. I didn't see many people, but I did hear shouting, fighting, and a couple gunshots. I did see clothes being dumped out a window, followed by what looked like a TV. It started to rain at some point, the drizzle rapidly increasing to a downpour.

I hoped the river was close.

I turned my eyes firmly to the road in front of me and just concentrated on getting to the restaurant.

Then something big and black and on fire landed on the road, right in my line of sight.

I slammed on the breaks again, the car turning to one side and skidding slightly on the water. My heart slammed in my chest, my fingers were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, but I turned my head to look at whatever had fallen to the street.

It was the masked man. It was Batman.

I was out of the car before I'd finished the thought, grabbing the keys from the ignition only by force of habit. I was soaked in seconds, but I didn't care.

Batman was moving slowly towards the nearest alley, and he was moving like he was injured or he wasn't seeing straight or something, but he was still moving fast. He was in the alley, leaning on the wall when I caught up with him, a few flames still licking along the length of his cape. I thought he was heading for another alleyway off the first, a tiny thing likely devoid of people. I wasn't sure over the sound of the rain, but it sounded like he was making small noises of some kind. He sounded vulnerable.

He turned at my approach, stared at me for a brief second, the remaining flames whispering out of existence in the heavy rain. I saw his eyes widen beneath the cowl. I didn't know what he was seeing.

He lurched towards the mouth of the second alley, stumbled. I stepped up beside him, slipped under his arm, trying to take some of his weight. He pushed at my side, but I didn't budge, just kept trying to urge him forward, even though his hands were connecting hard enough to bruise.

"Stop it," I snapped. "I'm trying to help."

I threw my weight forward, but it was Batman's reluctant acceptance of my assistance that got us to the narrow alley. Batman dropped against the wall, gasping for breath, hands fumbling at his belt. His eyes didn't leave me. At least, he was looking in my direction, but like before, I didn't know what he was seeing. I did get the sense that he wasn't really seeing me.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I only managed to get the first half-word out.

He raised a hand, shot some sort of line into the air and zipped upwards, towards a low roof.

I heard him hit the corrugated metal. I heard him scream something out, shuffle around. I could see the smoke rising from him, even in the rain.

I looked around, for some way to climb up, to see if he was okay, if there was anything I could do—I didn't know what that possibly could be, but he'd saved my life from that mugger a week ago, so I couldn't just stand there and do nothing, could I? I didn't see anything except a garbage can that didn't look like it would hold the weight of a raccoon, let alone me.

I decided to try it anyway, genius that I am.

"Real smart, Eleanor. Let's climb after the man who everyone thinks is a dangerous lunatic," I mumbled as I climbed on top of the garbage can, hands on the wet brick to keep myself balanced; wet metal is slippery. "You're going to fall and break your neck." I shimmied my hands up slowly, wrapping my fingers around the edge of the roof below the one Batman had ascended to. "Or get shot by someone who thinks you're trying to break into their house." I bent my knees slightly and the can began to tilt to one side.

Cursing under my breath, I pushed off with my legs and pulled with my arms and managed to squirm and struggle my way onto the roof even as the can toppled to one side with a loud crash. The sharp edge of the metal roof cut through both my palms and one thigh as I moved, causing me to cry out. The pain was sharp and immediate, but the blood was washed away in the rain and I could still move.

I sucked in a deep breath, the water dripping from my hair and nose coming with it, and exhaled, coughing at the same time. I moved to the wall leading up to the second roof. Thankfully it wasn't as high as the first one and I was able to get up with greater ease, even though my hands were screaming in protest. My hands were red when I got to my knees and my thigh was hurting something fierce.

Batman was lying in the middle of the roof, breath coming in ragged gasps. He was rocking back and forth slightly, arms held close to his chest.

I moved closer, shimmying on my butt so I wouldn't slide off the roof.

His eyes were wild, pupils wide, but they found me. He was saying something, but his voice was quiet and rough and I couldn't make it out.

I moved until I was about a foot away from him. I reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. The black material was hard but flexible—armour. He reacted to the touch, regardless. He reached up with his other hand, grabbed my wrist and just held on.

When my phone buzzed in my pocket, I had no idea how much time had passed. I pulled it out with my other hand, slid my thumb across the screen to answer. "Hey Dad," I breathed.

_"Ellie, where are you? Are you okay?"_

"I'm fine. I, uh, just ran into a little car trouble. I've got it under control. I'll be back at the asylum in a little bit. Sorry to worry you."

And then I hung up the phone, returned it to my pocket.

Before I could even start to regret that decision, I heard tires squeal to a stop nearby. Batman let go of my wrist and pushed himself down the slight slope of the roof and I understood: he'd gotten out of the alley so he'd be safe while he waited. Something had happened to him. He raised one hand, a bizarre gun aimed at a balcony overhanging the alleyway. A line shot out and attached itself to the underside of the balcony. Batman moved even closer to the edge of the roof, grabbing my arm just before he was out of reach.

As we slipped over the edge of the roof, I wrapped my arm around him and held on as we moved towards the ground, the line keeping us from plummeting.

I landed on my feet, but Batman slid to his knees, only my arm around him keeping him upright at all. He pulled me down with him, my knees hitting the cracked pavement of the alley.

"Ms. Black?"

I looked up at the voice, blinked water from my eyes, and found Alfred standing there. He was dressed in a raincoat, his short white hair plastered to his forehead. "Alfred? What are you…?" I looked from him to the man I was supporting. Batman's eyes were closed. "Shit."

Bruce Wayne was Batman.


	6. Secrets

"Ellie, are you sure you're okay?"

I looked up at my Dad and nodded. I'd somehow driven back to Arkham Asylum without crashing or hitting anyone or anything, even though I had really been in no state to drive. What was I going to do? Leave his car sitting in the middle of some street in the Narrows where it would get stolen and stripped for parts? Regardless of my mental and/or physical state, I did arrive in one piece, with only my roof-climbing wounds and intense confusion to show for it. Dad and Dr. Winchester had cleaned and bandaged my hands and my thigh as soon as they'd realized I was injured, and then Dad had taken me home. I hadn't needed stitches or staples or anything, thank God. They freaked me out.

"I'll be fine. I just need to get some sleep."

Liam gave me another hug—about the fifteenth since my adventure—and kissed my temple. I closed my eyes and leaned into him, memories of the warmth and safety of childhood, of stormy nights when Dad had held me to get me to sleep, filling my head and making me feel a little better, a little more connected to what I knew.

"And you're still not going to tell me what happened?"

I returned the hug as tight as I could. "Night Dad. I'll call you tomorrow morning."

For a second, my Dad's face turned stern, authoritative. A Dad face. But he didn't say anything. He just sighed and turned to the door. I guess he knew when it was hopeless. "Night Ellie."

I shut the door behind him, leaned against it for a moment and closed my eyes, concentrating on breathing evenly. I was tired; worn out from adrenaline and shock. I was sore and stiff, and I knew it would be worse in the morning. Maybe I should add more to my workout than just running in the park with Sarah if I planned on climbing up anymore buildings. I laughed at that thought. I did do a few stretches there in front of the door, but stopped when my thigh screamed loudly.

I locked the door and then dragged my butt over to my recliner, dropping heavily into it and pulling the blanket off the back to cover me. I'd changed out of my wet clothes while Dad put the Pad Thai he'd insisted on picking up on the way home in the fridge and made sure I had some Advil, which he'd moved from the bathroom to the end table along with a glass of water. He'd instructed me to take two now and two before I went to bed. I wasn't sure I was going to be able to sleep, not after what I'd learned, but I'd take the meds and at least try to get some rest. In my favourite chair, favourite sweater, with my favourite blanket covering me, I had the best chance.

I turned on the TV, swallowed the pills, and watched the news without much interest. They were doing a story on Batman.

Bruce.

Bruce was Batman. He'd been running around Gotham in a mask and armour, fighting crime, putting his life in danger. He'd brought down Carmine Falcone; started something. And he'd saved me from that mugger and whatever else might have happened.

But why had he had to put on a mask? Bruce Wayne had the intelligence, the money, the resources to help Gotham, to clean Gotham without hiding in the shadows.

I picked up the phone, thumb hovering over the first digit of Bruce's phone number, and stared at the little screen. I wanted to ask him so many questions—questions he'd probably never answer—but something was telling me I shouldn't call right now. He hadn't been in good shape. I should give Alfred and whatever other experts were involved time to help him, to figure out what the hell had happened down in the Narrows. But I couldn't just sit here and wait. Was he okay? Was he still alive? Would Alfred be able to get him help if he needed it? If they had to guard the secret of Batman's identity?

I kept flashing on the image of Batman on the roof, gasping for breath, his eyes panicked.

The phone rang somewhere in the middle of my thoughts, startling me. I actually let out a little yell.

"Hello?" I asked breathlessly.

_"I am sorry to bother you, Ms. Black. I hope I didn't wake you."_

"Oh, no. I was just wondering if I was going to be able to sleep after… tonight." I reclined the chair and shifted about until I was comfortable underneath the blanket. Or as comfortable as I was likely to get, anyway. "How's he doing, Alfred?" My voice was quiet. Alfred would be able to hear the uncertainty, the fear, whatever was inside.

_"I… I am not sure. He hasn't regained consciousness since I got him back to Wayne Manor, though his breathing has regulated some, and he has stopped mumbling incoherently. He seems to be dreaming, or having nightmares of some kind."_

"Do you know what's wrong with him?"

_"I'm afraid not. If his condition should worsen, I will call Mr. Fox."_

"And if he can't help?"

_"Ms. Black—"_

I sighed and pushed the back of the chair farther, until I was lying almost completely horizontally. "Sorry Alfred, I'm just… I'm not sure how to process this. He's Batman? How did this happen? Why did this happen? And now he's dying? Or almost dying?"

_"I do not believe he's dying, Ms. Black,"_ Alfred said. His tone added the "I won't let him" that Alfred wasn't saying out loud. _"And, about Master Bruce creating this alter ego, I do not know all the details myself, only what he has told me."_

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'll just have to harass him about it when… if he wakes up." I almost asked Alfred to call me Eleanor, but stopped. It was a habit of mine, something that came with no real thought. I almost laughed about that. Maybe I should try and get some sleep. "I'll stop by after work tomorrow, Alfred, and see how he's doing. Do you need anything?"

_"There is nothing we require. Are you sure you are in any condition to be going to work tomorrow?"_

"I'm fine Alfred. I just need some sleep and to remember to get a tetanus shot as soon as I can. As long as I have some Advil, I'll be fine. You just worry about Bruce."

_"I shall do nothing else."_

"Well, you try and get some sleep too. I'll see you tomorrow."

_"Good night, Ms. Black."_

"Good night, Alfred."

-

At five o'clock the next day, I was exhausted. I hadn't slept more than a couple hours, if that, and the sleep I had manged had been full of bats and darkness and Bruce dying horrible, painful deaths while I stood by and watched.

I was standing in the bathroom at Wayne Enterprises, staring at my reflection in the mirror and wondering how I'd got through the day without anyone saying I looked like hell. Because I did. My normally bright blue eyes were dull and sunken and surrounded by dark circles. My red-brown hair was messier than I remember it being. My entire body ached, my thigh throbbed, and I wanted to chop my hands off. Actually, I wanted to go home and go to bed, but I was worried about Bruce and had promised Alfred I would stop by. So that's what I would do. I splashed some cold water on my face, re-braided my hair, and returned to my desk to retrieve my things.

It took me almost forty-five minutes to reach Wayne Manor on the mainland. I hadn't been the manor in a while because of work, and I felt bad about that; I had made an effort to keep in touch with Alfred when Bruce had been gone. I missed the dinners he cooked and the conversations we had. If things were ever normal again, I'd make sure to pick up that routine again.

I drove around the manor to the kitchen entrance and parked beside the Rolls Royce Alfred favoured driving. Car locked and all my things in tow, I crossed the short distance to the old wooden door and rang the doorbell.

It took Alfred a little longer than normal to answer, since he was probably upstairs in Bruce's room. "Ah, Ms. Black. Please come in."

I followed the long-time butler into the familiar kitchen, a warm and homey place the perpetually smelled like tea and bread and whatever Alfred had cooked recently. It was a place I'd always loved, but today I didn't spend a lot of time reminiscing. Alfred and I made our way through the massive old house to the master bedroom, which Bruce had apparently taken over since returning to Gotham. I dropped my bags on a chair inside the door and moved to stand beside the bed. Alfred joined me.

Bruce was lying on his back, one arm thrown up over his head and the other lying across his chest, over the blankets. His face, and what I could see of his chest and shoulders, was covered in sweat. His eyes were moving rapidly back and forth under his eyelids. His mouth was set in a grimace, teeth clenched.

"Has there been any change? Any improvement?" I asked. I wanted to reach out and touch his hand, to brush the strands of hair back from his forehead.

Alfred sighed so heavily that I knew the answer wasn't going to be good. "He worsened early this afternoon. I called Mr. Fox. He arrived quickly and took a blood sample, I believe to create a counteragent to whatever Master Bruce inhaled or ingested."

I turned slightly so I could see Alfred and Bruce at the same time. The butler looked like he hadn't slept, like he'd been up all night worrying. I knew he had. "Get some sleep, Alfred. I'll sit with him."

He looked like he would protest, but after a moment he nodded. "You know where I'll be should you need me."

I made myself smile at Alfred and give his arm a reassuring pat, even though I didn't feel very reassured myself. When Alfred was gone, I sank into the nearby chair, the one that Alfred had probably been occupying since getting Bruce home, and stared at the unconscious man who I was beginning to think had come back to Gotham a lot crazier than when he'd left. For a long time, I sat there silently, curled up in the chair, face propped up on one hand and my bottom lip between my teeth.

"What have you started, Bruce?"

In reply, Bruce gave a sudden lurch, rolling onto his side, the arm that had been lying across his chest flopped out over the edge of the bed. I stared at his hand for a moment before I took it in my own, sliding my fingers between his. The gesture felt awkward, too familiar for us, but I didn't let go.

For some reason, I began to cry.

"You'd better wake up," I muttered around the tears.

-

"Eleanor, wake up."

The voice was fuzzy and distant. I swam towards it. I knew that voice and what that voice might have to say would be important. I tried to say I was awake, but I don't think the words made it out.

"Eleanor."

The voice was clearer now and I felt like I was being shaken. I opened my eyes and found that I was looking up at Lucius Fox from an odd angle. I was in a lot of pain. I groaned as I straightened, my joints and bones cracking. I'd fallen asleep in the chair. Great.

"Hey Lucius," I mumbled.

Something clicked inside and I scrambled quickly out of the chair so I could turn and face the wiry African-American. What had Alfred given as reason for Bruce's condition? Was Lucius in on the secret? My brain, still half asleep, was trying to tell me something else, but I wasn't picking up on it. I gaped, trying to find something to say, almost started speaking, putting words to my concern. Alfred walked into the room and levelled his gaze on me, his mouth a thin line, his face as close to warning as I'd ever seen it. Confused, but getting the hint, I shut my mouth and turned my attention back to Lucius, who was watching me with one eyebrow raised high.

"Sorry. I was, uh, having a bad dream." I smiled at Lucius, but it probably looked a little panicky. "How are you Lucius?"

He frowned at me and I realized the question was a little odd in the context of the situation. I shook my head, turned back around, and looked at Bruce. He looked like he was sleeping soundly, a far cry from what I'd seen when I'd arrived however long ago. I gave a small sigh of relief.

"I was able to synthesize an antidote to whatever it was that Bruce inhaled," Lucius said.

"Thank God."

"Did you inhale any of the toxin Eleanor?"

I shook my head. "He was already acting weird when I ran into him. Like he was seeing things that weren't there." I found myself standing close to the bed, my fingers brushing the edge of the bedspread. I felt like there were tears close by again. "He was terrified."

"From what I could discern, the toxin holds similar properties to other hallucinogenic substances, but the antidote worked quite quickly. He shouldn't be seeing anything now."

"How long will he be out for?"

"It's difficult to say, but I'd guess another day at least."

"I'll take it upon myself to wake Master Bruce up in time for his birthday party," Alfred said. If the butler was joking, he must feel Bruce was out of immediate danger.

I smiled, even laughed a bit, and whatever weight had been hanging around suddenly weighed a little less. Bruce was going to be okay. Alfred and Lucius were talking quietly by the door, so I excused myself to use the bathroom and find a clock, since I still had no idea what time it was and I'd been asleep for who knew how long.

It hit me when I was about halfway down the hall from Bruce's room, the other thing my brain had been trying to tell me.

Of course Lucius would know the secret, or at the very least suspect something—Batman's armour, that line he'd used in the alley, they were prototypes from the Applied Sciences division. I'd just done an inventory of the entire place, and I'd done several before. I'd known there were pieces missing. It hadn't meant anything at first; it had just taken finding that Bruce was Batman for the pieces to fall into place.

Actually, now that I knew who was behind the cowl, it rather made sense. Bruce had the money, the knowledge, the access to the equipment…

That was what the playboy image was about, hiding who he really was so no one would make that connection.

I smiled to myself and started walking again, glad to know that my friend hadn't totally vanished, that the vacant expression presented at the party and to Mr. Earle was just a mask. Maybe now that I knew Bruce's secret…

What? What would happen know that I knew? Would he take me into his confidence? Would he swear me to secrecy and then never want to see me again?

What did I want to happen? Did I want to be around a man who'd taken it upon himself to fight the crime in Gotham? Who'd single-handedly done more to stop Carmine Falcone than the police ever had? Who put his life in danger every time he put on that cowl?

The answer was yes, and that scared me.

We weren't really close anymore; I wasn't even sure Bruce still considered us friends. We'd only spoken twice since he'd made public his return, and once had been him asking me to do him a favour. So why did it suddenly matter so much that Bruce should be okay with me knowing about Batman?

That was a question I wasn't sure how to answer. Not yet.

I never did find out what time it was.


	7. The Batman

I ended up returning to Wayne Manor after work the following day as well; since it was Thursday, I was done work at three instead of five because Mr. Earle had a standing engagement at that time every week. I hadn't been able to think of much all day beyond Bruce Wayne and Batman being the same person, and that Bruce was currently fighting for his life. Mr. Earle had yelled at me twice for being distracted and once for spilling coffee all over his desk. I'd also had to process paperwork that said Lucius Fox had been fired. Mr. Earle had yelled at me again when I'd asked him why. And, on top of that, I was still sore and still from my injuries and from falling asleep in the chair.

The weird part was, I never even considered going home to my loft to catch up on the sleep I'd missed, or to wait and hear from Alfred, telling me Bruce was okay. I wanted to be there when Bruce woke up.

So, by the time I arrived at Wayne Manor, I was not in a very good mood. Alfred, in his infinite wisdom, made me a perfect cup of tea with lots of milk and sugar, and left me to sit with Bruce while he tried to manage a little sleep, this time without my urging. His ability to sense what people wanted was uncanny, but perhaps he could only do so with people he'd known for years. Or maybe my need for a comforting drink was being broadcast loudly enough for anyone to hear.

Bruce had improved steadily over the day, according to Alfred, and looking at him, I had to agree. He really looked like he was sleeping heavily, like he could awake at any moment. I sipped my tea, alternating looking at Bruce and out the window at the afternoon sun. Somewhere in there, I remembered it was Bruce's birthday, and wondered if the party I'd received an invitation for a week ago would still take place.

As the sun was sinking towards the horizon, I set my empty mug on the bedside table and leaned forward in the chair. I stared hard at the side of Bruce's face, willing him to wake up.

"Come on, Bruce. You've been asleep long enough. Don't you have Batman things to do? Don't you have to figure out whatever the hell is going on in the Narrows? Why you were drugged?"

I stared harder, eyes narrowing. My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since lunch, and severely distracting me from my effort of trying to stare Bruce into wakefulness. I fell back into the chair and sighed heavily. Maybe I should have just gone home and gone to bed. Or food.

"Eleanor?"

I jumped out of my skin, though he'd only spoken in a whisper. "Oh my God!" When I'd landed back in the moment, I found Bruce lying on his back, looking at me through heavily-lidded eyes. I leaned forward, placed a hand on his arm. I wanted to hug him and cry. "Bruce! How do you feel? Do you need anything?"

He held up his hand, cutting off the stream of chatter that was building, but he didn't pull away from the contact. He blinked groggily at me, gave his head a shake. "Eleanor, what are you doing here? Where's Alfred?"

"He's gone to try and get some sleep, since I don't think he's managed more than an hour or two since he got you home."

"And you?"

I stopped smiling as I realized what he was getting at. He wanted some confirmation that I knew his secret. The fear over what was going to happen when he found out I knew resurfaced and I suddenly didn't want to tell him I was in on his biggest secret. I wanted to play ignorant, just a concerned friend who'd stopped by and found him lying up in bed with some unknown illness. But Bruce wasn't going to believe that, especially since I'd already admitted to having some knowledge of when and how he'd gotten back to the manor.

"You dropped out of the sky while I was driving and I almost hit you with my Dad's car," I blurted. "You were hallucinating. I helped you into the alley and waited with you on the roof in the rain until Alfred came to get you." I tried to keep my face expressionless, but I was pretty sure Bruce was going to know what was going through my brain anyways. He didn't say anything, just kept his eyes on me, I guess inviting me to continue. I sighed. "I am not going to tell anyone, Bruce. I wouldn't do that to you."

His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied me, probably looking for any sign that I was lying.

When he didn't move, I sighed again and got to my feet, my fingers lingering on his arm as long as possible. "I'll go get Alfred."

"Wait," he said, stopping me just before I stepped into the hall. "Do you know how long I've been out?"

"Two days. I wasn't here to see it, but Alfred said your condition worsened, so he called Lucius to come and see what he could do. He managed to create an antidote to whatever it was that you inhaled, and you got better."

"Is he here?"

"No. Do you want me to call him?"

Bruce climbed out of bed, his striped pyjama pants falling around his legs. "Yes. I need more of the antidote."

I nodded. "I'll get Alfred as well. I'm sure you have preparations for your birthday party and whatever other nocturnal activities you have planned." I took another step towards the hall, lingering in the doorway. "Uh, Bruce?"

"Yes?"

I didn't turn to look at him because my face had suddenly turned bright red. "Thanks for saving me from that mugger."

I heard a small noise of acknowledgement, but he didn't say anything. I hesitated a moment longer before leaving the room. I made my way downstairs to the butler's bedroom and knocked on the door. Alfred answered, his glasses perched low on his nose and a book clutched in one hand. He hadn't been sleeping. I was both glad that I hadn't woken him and worried that he still hadn't gotten any sleep.

I smiled at Alfred and hoped none of the uncertainty showed. "Bruce is awake, Alfred. He seems fine—normal, whatever that means for him now."

The butler smiled, warmth spreading across his face. He nodded at me and gave my shoulder a squeeze before moving quickly up to Bruce's room. I smiled to myself and moved into the kitchen to find the only phone I knew the location of.

Lucius answered after the second ring. _"Hello?"_

"Hi Lucius, it's Eleanor. I'm calling from Wayne Manor; Bruce is awake."

_"That's good news! Is he exhibiting any symptoms?"_

"No, actually. He seems to be perfectly fine, just moving a little slow from being in bed for so long. He did want to know if you could bring some more of the antidote. He didn't say why."

_"Of course. I'll be over shortly."_

"See you then."

I hung up the phone and headed back upstairs to grab my things. With Bruce up and about and okay, I suddenly felt like I shouldn't be there, not unless he wanted me there. His brain was already back on whatever Batman had to do anyway, which was good. I passed Bruce and Alfred on the stairs. There was a knock at the door as I was turning into Bruce's room where my bags were sitting. I was too far away to hear who was at the door, or any of the conversation that transpired, but as I made my way back down to the kitchen, I caught the tail end of the goodbye. It was Rachel. I frowned as I made my way to the kitchen door. I didn't want to think about Rachel, about the bizarre jealous feeling that blossomed whenever I thought about her and Bruce.

I tried to slip out the door, but Bruce appeared in the kitchen almost as if he knew I was trying to sneak away.

"Eleanor, were you planning on attending the party tonight?" he asked. He was staring at a box in his hands and his voice sounded distant, like he was mentally preoccupied.

"I, uh, hadn't thought about it. Why?"

Actually, I hadn't planned on going to the party. It was going to be full of Wayne family friends, the bigwigs from Wayne Enterprises, and people just trying to move up in the social scene by being at what was likely going to be the biggest party of the year. Birthday for Bruce Wayne, the recently resurrected son of Gotham? Oh, people would get serious social cred for being at that shindig, and I didn't really want any part of it.

"I want someone here to help keep an ear on the situation."

"What situation?"

"Will you stay?"

I sighed, rolled my eyes. Half of my brain told me to say no, to distance myself from this—from Batman, from my confusing feelings towards Bruce, from everything—as soon as possible, and the other half was all for helping any way I could. That was the part that had led me to get the files on Wayne Enterprises for Bruce, the part that had made me jump out of the car and help Batman. There was a little bit of internal debate, but I'd known what I was going to say as soon as he'd asked.

"Yeah, I'll stay. Just let me go home to change. I'm not dressed for a party."

-

"Holy shit, you actually have a bat cave."

I spun around, looking up at the thousands of bats covering the ceiling, listened to the flap of their wings, the chirp of their conversation, noises that were strangely comforting. A waterfall thundered off to the far side and water meandered through most of what I could see of the cave. The cave was cool and, in a knee-length dress and heels, I wasn't dressed for subterranean levels, but I was more concerned with where I was standing than with the goosebumps breaking out on my arms and legs. I was more concerned with the fact that Bruce had actually brought me down here, to Batman's base of operations. It was almost as if…

"Wait, why did you bring me down here?"

Bruce turned to face me, his arms crossed over his chest and his face cast in sharp shadows in the overhead lighting. He looked like Batman, big and brooding, even without the cape and cowl. "I didn't want you to find out about Batman, Eleanor, but you did." I almost felt like apologizing, but I kept my mouth shut. "And I know there's no way to keep you from getting involved. You'd find a way to insert yourself, even if I tried to keep you out."

"You were the one who got me interested by showing up in the parking garage and stopping the mugging. And how can you be sure I wanted to be involved?"

The corner of his mouth lifted in time with his eyebrow. "Just a feeling."

I tried to fight the smile and failed. "You still know me so well."

"You haven't really changed that much."

I continued to smile and I felt myself blush, even though it wasn't really a compliment or praise. It was just a fact, and it had been stated as such.

We held each other's gaze for a few seconds before he turned to one of several workstations and began tinkering with a small device that looked like the earbud from my headphones. I took the opportunity to study the more hospitable area of the cave. To one side and aimed towards the waterfall, a large, low-slung vehicle sat, looking almost predatory in the shadows. There were six or seven work stations in front of me, all arranged in a loose horseshoe shape on a level concrete floor, and everything was situated under the glow of those big lights that had been affixed to the stone. I took a few steps forward, heels clacking loudly on the concrete, and leaned against one of the workbenches, arms crossed.

"You've been home for longer than a couple weeks," I said. I felt a little stupid that the idea hadn't occurred to me before.

Bruce didn't acknowledge that I had spoken. He turned and handed me the device he'd been working with. When I extended my hand to take it from him, he noticed the bandage on my palm and took my hand in his. He grabbed my other hand as well.

"When did this happen?"

"The night you inhaled whatever toxin that was." I watched something subtle play over Bruce's face and wondered if he was worried he'd hurt me in some way in his drug-induced psychosis. Probably not, but just in case… "I sliced my hands and my thigh when I climbed up onto the roof after you. My Dad patched the cuts up. I'm fine." He was still staring at my hands, like he was trying to remember something. "What did you see when you looked at me that night?" I asked quietly.

"I... I saw you, but there were bats crawling through your hair and out of your mouth." He lightly ran his thumbs over the bandages before he dropped my hands.

"So you are still afraid of bats."

Bruce gave me an incredulous look.

I raised my hands in surrender. "Now, are you going to tell me what this thing is for?" I asked, indicating the device.

"It's connected to the police scanner, and the computer down here. I need you to keep an ear on what the police are doing. There's a small microphone embedded as well, so I'll be able to hear you if you pick up something."

"And why do you want me to do this?" Bruce stared at me for a minute, but I waved him off. "Never mind. I said I'd do it and I will." I slipped the earbud into my ear, adjusted it until it was sitting comfortably. "Am I keeping an eye on the guests too?"

"You shouldn't have to. I have to get out to the Narrows."

"That situation you mentioned?"

Bruce nodded.

"And Rachel is somehow involved?"

Another nod.

I sighed, tried to keep the jealousy and anger from making me say something stupid. I still wasn't sure why I had this reaction whenever I thought of Rachel and Bruce together. The pair of them had always planned on ending up together, and I'd known that my whole life, so why should it bother me now? But it did bother me. Did I… no. No. This was something to deal with later.

"All right. I'd better get upstairs so I can help Alfred keep Gotham's wealthy drunk and happy. Uh, Bruce?" I hesitated when he looked at me. "I was going to say 'be careful,' but something tells me you don't need to hear that, so… I'll be here when you get back."

He nodded and I touched two fingers to my forehead in salute. I turned and made my way back to the elevator that would take me back up to the study and Wayne Manor proper, listening to the sounds of the bats and the waterfall so I wouldn't hear Bruce getting ready. When I stepped into the study, I had to stop and take a deep breath. When I exhaled, the breath shook.

Why had I agreed to help Batman? Why hadn't I just turned and run like any normal person would have?

"It's too late now," I told myself.

There was a quiet burst of static in my ear and suddenly I could hear the 911 dispatcher. It was loud enough that I could hear, but not so loud as to be totally distracting. I hoped I would be able to focus on both the information in my ear and the people at the party.

I sighed, pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, and started towards the massive reception hall where the party was taking place. "Time to get to work, I guess."


	8. Fire at Wayne Manor

Bruce's birthday party was exactly what I'd prepared myself for: Gotham's elite prancing around in their finery and drinking their weight in wine and champagne. My parents weren't in attendance thanks to a seven car pile-up, and Sarah had vanished about an hour ago with the son of some business man from Metropolis who was looking to make connections in Gotham before bringing his business here. The bandages on my hands stuck out, but I wasn't really concerned about the looks I was getting; the dress was thankfully long enough to cover the bandage on my leg.

After making the rounds and spreading the reason for Bruce's absence—he was on a dinner date that had apparently run late, but I was sure he'd be here soon—I took up refuge near the buffet table, glass of wine in one hand and mind focused totally on the noise in my ear.

I'd heard the call come in from Arkham Asylum, saying the Batman was there and he was after Dr. Crane—how the hell was the creepy-ass doctor involved?—but that had been a while ago and I'd heard nothing about it since, save for a call for reinforcements; Commissioner Loeb really wanted Batman. I was getting anxious for information, for something, anything to tell me Bruce was still alive.

I drained my wine and snagged another glass from a passing waiter.

"Ms. Black, are you all right?"

I forced myself to smile at Alfred. I ran a hand back through my hair, pushing the shorter strands back from my face. "I'm okay, just a little, uh, wound up I guess. I haven't heard anything in a while." I tapped my ear, just to make sure Alfred knew what I was talking about. As if it would be anything else.

"I am sure Master Bruce is fine." He moved a little closer and lowered his voice. "Perhaps you could find your answers downstairs."

I narrowed my eyes slightly, pursing my lips as I did so. "I'm not sure Bruce would like that, Alfred."

The butler shrugged. "It is your choice, but I do not think it would be an issue."

He made to walk away, but I put my hand on his arm, stopping him. I chewed my lip for a second, before asking, "Alfred, was he mad that I found out?" I did my best to keep my voice low, so only Alfred could hear what I was saying; the other party guests were probably too occupied by their alcohol and prestigious company to notice anyway.

A look passed over Alfred's face, a knowing look. "If he is angry, he is hiding it well. I would say shock is a more appropriate description." He gave me one of those warm smiles, his head tilted slightly to one side. "This is not the type of secret you expect people to find out accidentally, but if it had to be anyone, I would imagine Master Bruce is glad it was you. The two of you were friends for a long time, and that is not something you can just throw away, regardless of how hard he may try to distance himself from the life he had seven years ago."

It was a big speech coming from Alfred, but it did a lot to make me feel better, even if it turned out not to be true. I gave him a wide smile. "Thanks Alfred. I think I will head downstairs."

"Mind your step," he said as he ventured back into the throng of Gotham's wealthy.

I looked down at my heels and remembered how unstable I'd felt on the rocky floor of the cave. If I was going to spend the remainder of the evening in said cave, maybe changing into jeans and a sweater would be a good idea… Too bad I hadn't thought to bring any.

I drained my wine glass and started across the room, aimed for the kitchen, and the study beyond. Dodging the wait staff and Alfred—who I was pretty sure saw anyway—I grabbed an open bottle of wine off the counter and hurried up to the second floor, pausing only to kick my shoes off and run upstairs to grab my purse from the spare bedroom I'd deposited it in. Back on the ground floor in the study, after double-checking that none of the guests had wandered down the hall into the room, I plunked out the musical sequence and slipped into the secret passage, the elevator moving quickly down into the cold and damp of the cave. The rock was icy against my bare feet.

"Okay, here's hoping your computers aren't ridiculously complicated," I breathed as I dropped into the chair.

Luckily, they weren't. The GPS feature was actually already up on one of the auxiliary screens, the bright green dot that represented Batman moving through the outlined streets of Gotham. He was moving quickly, heading through Midtown, back towards the bridge that would bring him to Wayne Manor; I looked over my shoulder and sure enough, the bizarre low vehicle I'd seen earlier was gone. I wondered how he'd get it back into the cave.

Judging by the screen, I'd have my answer in like, five minutes.

So I paced around the concrete floor in my bare feet and party dress, hands on my hips and my mind wandering through what I knew of Bruce and Batman. I think I got through almost half the bottle of wine. Maybe it was more like a third.

Six and a half minutes later, the waterfall exploded. The tank-car-thing slammed onto the ground, sending fans of water to either side as it slid to a stop less than a foot away from the edge of the concrete floor. The hatch popped open and Batman jumped out, moving quickly to the other side, withdrawing an unconscious Rachel and hurrying her over to the only empty table in the cave. I don't even think he noticed me. Which was fine. It allowed me to watch him inject her with two syringes: I was guessing one was the antidote to the toxin, since she seemed to be exhibiting the same symptoms Bruce had. He stood next to her, his mouth moving in response to a question she asked. He looked at me as he spoke. I wish I could have heard what he said. He remained beside Rachel as she passed into unconsciousness. He pulled off the cowl, his hair and face sweaty, and gazed down at her, worry and affection plain on his face.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the workbench I was standing beside, internally grateful when it didn't make any noise. My gut was twisting with jealousy, but I watched him touch her face tenderly and wondered why he couldn't be with her and be Batman, but it seemed he'd made that decision. Or maybe she had.

I sighed.

Then cursed when Bruce turned his head, remembering that I was there, that I was watching.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked, cape flaring out behind him as he moved towards me.

"I hadn't heard anything from the police for a long time, so I came down here to see if I could find a way to make sure you were still moving and alive," I answered, gesturing widely, the bottle of wine becoming terribly evident, still clutched in one hand. "What did you say to Rachel?"

Bruce eyed the bottle, but said nothing. "Is everything going well upstairs?"

"Alfred's got it under control. I like it better down here anyways." I took another drink from the bottle of wine and spun on the spot as Bruce headed for a cabinet I hadn't seen until now. I stopped when I was facing Rachel again, a frown on my face. "Is she okay?"

I didn't have to be looking at him to feel Bruce's heavy gaze. "She'll be fine. I've injected her with the antidote—Crane gave her a concentrated dose of the same hallucinogen that he used against me."

I dropped the wine bottle on the work bench I was standing beside and approached the side of the table, looking down at the unconscious woman who I'd spent most of my life competing with on some level. For the life of me, I couldn't recall when we'd started with the dislike of each other, but I could remember a time when we'd gotten along, when we'd actually been friends. I think we'd been four or five.

"What are you going to do with her?" I asked.

Bruce appeared at my side, dressed in most of a tuxedo. His bowtie wasn't tied and he was missing a jacket, but he'd definitely dropped the Batman persona. "Alfred is going to take her home. I've given her two more doses of the antidote, one for Gordon and one for mass production. Crane isn't working alone; he was a pawn."

"Why do I get the feeling that's a very, very bad thing?"

"Because it means the entire city is in danger." He quickly tied his tie and moved back to the cabinet where his jacket was hanging from one of the doors; the Batsuit was haphazardly thrown back into place and I got the feeling that Bruce wasn't going to be the billionaire playboy for long. He slid his suit jacket on and made sure it was sitting right. "Stay down here and keep an eye on her. Alfred will be down in a minute."

"Yes boss."

I gave Bruce a somewhat less-than-enthusiastic and very toothy grin when he turned to look at me. I retrieved the bottle of wine and waved it at him as he ascended up to the manor. I think I got an eye roll in response.

-

"Would you like me to take you home as well, Ms. Black?"

I pulled myself out of the lull I'd slipped into—staring up at the bats had become mesmerizing, right about the time I'd finish the bottle of wine—and shook my head. "I'll stick around; might be useful."

"Would you like me to bring you some coffee then?"

I stared at Alfred, trying to figure out why I would want coffee. I hated coffee. He knew that. But I had had a bottle of wine and then some. "Uh… no. I'll go up and get some water for myself." I pushed myself out of the chair, wobbled a bit. "Do you need any help getting Rachel out to the car?"

Alfred put his hands on my shoulders to steady me. For some reason, the cave kept wobbling. "I will be all right on my own. I believe you should concentrate on getting sober, Ms. Black, so as to increase your usefulness."

I glared at Alfred as I started walking towards the elevator. The old butler's only reply was a smile.

When I made it upstairs, I could immediately tell something was wrong, despite the vast quantity of wine I'd ingested over the past few hours; I'd never been a lightweight, but I'd definitely gone beyond what I normally drank. I proceeded to the kitchen as I'd planned, moving sideways down the hall with both hands on the wall for balance, and as I was crossing the entrance to the reception hall, I discovered what was off: the guests were gone. Bruce was standing in the middle of the room, in front of the tall man I'd bumped into earlier, and it looked like they were having a heated discussion.

Getting the sense that this was not a conversation I wanted to overhear—regardless of how much I actually wanted to eavesdrop—I did my best to move quietly to the fridge where I knew Alfred kept several large bottles filled with filtered water; you did not want to drink the tap water in Gotham. Just as I was about to attempt getting back down to the cave without being noticed, two large men came through the back door and locked it, shoving a chair under the handle for good measure. I pressed myself to the side of the fridge and hoped they wouldn't look back as they went out into the hall. I tried to make my breathing as quiet as possible.

I didn't know who the men were, or why they were there, but I was pretty sure they had something to do with the tall man with the goatee, and I did know that they scared me.

I could feel the adrenaline moving through my body, pushing the alcohol to the background, as I watched the men meander slowly out into the hall where, by the sounds of it, they joined up with several more beefy men in black. They confirmed that each team had locked the exit they were in charge of, and that was all I heard as they headed down the hall. After a few seconds, I heard loud bangs like they were knocking over furniture or something. Weird.

Before any more thugs could show up and find me—frankly, I was surprised the first two hadn't noticed me, or had they and not cared?—I moved as quietly as I could into the corridor. I could no longer keep my breathing quiet, the tension and fear making it come out more as short gasps than anything else, but my footfalls made no noise, thanks to the earlier removal of my heels. So, clutching my jug of water and hoping it wouldn't slosh too loudly, I made it down the hall to the study, staying close to the wall and peering around corners and doorways like I'd seen people do in movies. When I was safely inside the study, I lost my nerve and I ran across the room, quickly hitting the keys on the piano and dove into the elevator, the notes echoing around the room and my head like a gong banging repeatedly.

As the elevator began to fall, I thought I smelled smoke, heard the crackle of fire.

But that couldn't be right, could it?

Was the manor on fire?

Had the tall man and his thugs set fire to the house?

Bruce! Was he okay? Where was Bruce? And Alfred?

The elevator stopped, the slight jarring amplified by the state of my equilibrium, and I stumbled out onto the rocks. My initial reaction was to get back into the elevator and get up to find Bruce and Alfred, but I forced myself to think this one through. This wasn't like jumping out into the rain to chase after a man I'd almost hit with my car, and this wasn't like getting some files for Bruce. This situation could get me killed. If the house was even really on fire.

"God damn it Eleanor, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?" I smacked the heel of my hand against my forehead and opened the jug so I could gulp down some water.

The smell of burning wood reached down into the cave.

I marched a few steps back to the elevator then stopped.

"Fuck," I breathed, with feeling. I nearly ran back over to the desk, fished my cell phone out of my purse. There was no way I was going to be able to do anything to help Bruce, not with the house on fire and me still mostly drunk, so I was going to do the only thing I knew would work.

_"911, what's your emergency?"_

"Wayne Manor is on fire and there may be people inside: that's my emergency!" I yelled at the woman on the other end of the line. My eyes began to itch and there was a pressure in my nose that meant tears were on the way; I was panicking.

_"Emergency services are on the way ma'am. What's—"_

I hung up the phone and dropped it on the desk. My head was throbbing and I began to cry, the tears just sort of falling out of my eyes. I paced around a bit more, the wobbling lessening with every step. I wasn't sure what to do now and my brain still wasn't functioning at one-hundred percent.

"Why did I drink that wine?" I asked myself.

A loud shudder from the elevator signalled someone calling it up to the manor. I moved as quickly as I could without sending myself into the water and stopped a few feet away from the elevator shaft. I looked up and saw the car descending too fast, then there was an explosion and then fire filled the shaft, followed by a wave of heat and pressure. I dropped to my knees on the cave floor and covered my head, afraid of any debris falling. The elevator car slammed to a stop in front of me.

"Ellie," I heard Bruce gasp.

I pushed myself up so I was crouched on my hands and knees and found Bruce huddled down in the corner of the elevator, Alfred hunched over him, studying a wound on his side. "Are you okay?" I asked, sniffing back the tears that were still running down my face.

As Alfred helped Bruce reclaim his feet, I saw there were tears in Bruce's eyes. "I'll be fine," he replied. Illustrating his point, he disengaged from Alfred's arms and walked towards the workbenches under his own power.

I feel in step beside him. The adrenaline combined with the explosion and the momentarily vulnerability displayed by Bruce had sobered me up pretty good. "What the hell happened up there? Did it have something to do with whatever the hell else is going on?"

Bruce stopped in front of the cabinet and started undressing, preparing to once again become the Batman. While I was waiting for him to speak, I turned and spotted Alfred walking into the shadows, presumably to some auxiliary exit and then to take Rachel home; he hadn't had enough time to get to her apartment in Downtown and back since I'd last seen him. Bruce made a minute noise of pain and my attention was fully back on him. He was trying to remove his formally snowy white shirt, but it was sticking in the wound on his side.

I made an impatient noise that earned me a slightly confused look. "Parents are doctors, remember? I do know how to handle wounds. I can at least patch you up so you don't bleed out while you're running over rooftops." I peeled the fabric of the shirt back as gently as I could. I tried not to stare at the multitude of scars covering his skin. Or at the appealing lines of his muscles. Damn it Eleanor, focus. "While I'm doing this, you can tell me what the hell is going on and who that tall man upstairs was."

"You saw him?"

"I bumped into him earlier. Is there a first aid kit or medical supplies in all this?"

Bruce pointed to an examination table I hadn't noticed before, and beside it, a tall set of metal drawers. I walked over and started digging through its contents until I found what I was looking for. My head was starting to hurt, thanks to the rapid return to sobriety, but I did my best to ignore it. Back at Bruce's side, I began tending to the wound with disinfectant.

"Did you hear about the problems with the shipment from China?" Bruce asked.

I was mildly impressed he wasn't showing any reaction to the stinging sensation. "Yes. I was down in Applied Sciences while Lucius was trying to sort it out. It was delayed by a week."

"Well, that delay allowed for someone to steal a piece of Wayne Enterprises technology from the cargo ship: a microwave emitter designed to vaporize the water supply of enemy forces in desert warfare."

"I've read about it. The people who stole it brought it to Gotham I'm assuming," I said as I started picking out a few, long slivers out of the wound. I didn't really want to know what had cut the gash in his side. "And I'm guessing it has something to do with Crane's drug?"

Bruce caught my gaze and I saw he was surprised, or shocked.

"What? I'm not stupid, Bruce, and all this happening at the same time can't be a coincidence. I couldn't tell you how they're connected, but it's easy enough to see there's something bigger going on than just Crane and Falcone trying to make some money with a hot new designer drug." When I couldn't see any more splinters, I taped the wound shut. I began taping a thick wad of gauze over the gash, biting my lip when some of his blood trickled out onto my hand.

He nodded in agreement. "They've been putting the drug in the water mains at Arkham. As far as I can tell, they've been doing it for weeks."

"So it'll be all over Gotham by now."

"And they're going to use the microwave emitter to vaporize all the water in Gotham and spread the drug so everyone can inhale it."

"Shit." I finished covering the wound and stepped back so Bruce could continue changing while I cleaned up. I tried to keep my back turned as he finished undressing, and I tried not to listen to the crashes from above indicating the house was falling to the ground. Where were the fire trucks? "What does the drug do?" I asked quietly.

"It turns the world around you into a place full of your greatest fears."

"And something tells me you're familiar with it."

Bruce sighed and I heard the hitch in his breath as he pulled the cowl over his head. Sure enough, when I turned around, I was looking at Batman and not Bruce Wayne. "Yes. It was something I encountered when I was away from Gotham."

"And the men using it?"

Batman took a few steps closer to me, the hard set of his jaw and eyes unsettling me. "Are dangerous and must be stopped. You should get out of here, Eleanor. It may not be safe. There's another exit at the end of a small tunnel that way—" he pointed in the direction I'd seen Alfred walking "—that will come out near the guest house. If it's still standing, you can stay there. There's another computer set up in there connects to the main one in the cave." He paused and took a deep breath. "Or you can go home. Take one of the cars if yours was damaged in the fire." His tone told me that was what he really wanted me to do.

Without waiting for a reply, Batman went to the vehicle and climbed in, his cape billowing dramatically around him as he moved.

"I'll be here when you get back," I called as the top of the tank-car-thing slid closed.

I'd said it without thinking. But there was really nothing to think about. He was Bruce Wayne and he was Batman and I was starting to realize that I just might have feelings for him beyond friendship.

"Shit," I said emphatically.


	9. Fear in Gotham

It turned out to be a very good thing that I'd left the cave when I did, as not five minutes after my feet hit the grass, a huge section of the East wing collapsed, driving the burnt timbers down and crumpling the elevator shaft and probably demolishing the exit I'd made my escape from, if the plume of dust that followed me out was to be believed. I stood on the chilly grass in my bare feet, holding my shoes and purse and water bottle, feeling the heat from the flames and watching as the emergency vehicles approached, their red and blue lights painting the night purple. It contrasted nicely with the orange and red of the fire.

I started laughing at that thought, and it wasn't a quiet laugh.

So, before anyone could find me laughing like a dirty, dishevelled lunatic, I headed for the guest house.

I'd only been inside once before, when the yard was a jungle and Bruce, Rachel, and I had gone exploring, but I remembered the way, and the yard was currently very well lit. The large house sat on the edge of the manicured property, backing onto a cluster of tall trees and untouched land. I knew that about fifty steps to the right would get me to the Wayne family burial plot where I hadn't been since the funeral for Bruce's parents, and if I started walking straight back to the manor from there, I would meet up with the Olympic-sized pool in the backyard, if there was still a pool to find. I had many fond memories in the yard of Wayne Manor.

With a sigh, I looked over my shoulder at the burning house. The firemen had their hoses pointed at the edges of the blaze, containing it, but not trying to extinguish it. I couldn't say I blamed them. The flames were high and bright and loud, consuming the entirety of the house, and it would have been a wasted effort to try and put them out. They'd probably burn out faster than the firefighters could get enough water up to the house.

I found the spare key for the guest house tucked in the mailbox and, after a moment of juggling the things in my arms, let myself in. For a moment, I just stood in the doorway, breathing in the musty smell and staring into the darkness. I started giggling again, and shaking. Turning on lights as I went, I made my way into the living room on the ground floor, dropping my things on the first chair I passed so I could rub my arms and sides, trying to banish a cold that had nothing to do with temperature. Tears began to accompany the laughter and I slid to my butt with my back against the wall, arms still wrapped around myself.

I put the heels of my hands against my eyes and just let myself cry, got it out of my system. I was scared, confused, sad, angry, still a little drunk and totally unsure how to deal with everything that had happened, that was still going on.

"You're not going to figure anything out sitting on your ass," I mumbled to myself.

A moment of concentrating on breathing deep with my eyes closed and I was able to get back to my feet and kick my own ass into moving.

I pulled the dust cover off a desk in the corner and found the computer Bruce had mentioned, a high-end laptop, its plug and several USB devices sitting beside it, waiting to be plugged in. After uncovering the couch and the television and finding a news station covering the situation in the Narrows, I moved the laptop to the couch and plugged it into the outlet closest to the piece furniture. I got all the devices plugged in and started the computer. While it was booting up, I wandered into the master bedroom at the back of the house, hoping to find a box with blankets or some old clothes or anything warmer than my rather worse for wear party dress. In the closet, I found a thick comforter and eagerly wrapped it around myself, noticing as I did so that my bandages were dirty, covered in grime and sweat, dirt and blood. That couldn't be sanitary.

I'd change them later.

I had just gotten settled on the couch and figured out how to connect to the computer in the cave when Alfred returned, looking about as worn out as I felt.

"How are you doing, Ms. Black?" he asked immediately, straightening his cardigan and tie beneath.

"I'm shaking and angry and I keep laughing at random things, but… physically, I'm fine. I'm not sure how I'm doing otherwise."

I could feel Alfred's eyes on me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. The TV and the laptop were all that I wanted to look at. If I looked away, I'd probably start screaming or something. There was a hot ball of rage forming inside.

"Is there anything I might be able to do help, Ms. Black?" Alfred's voice was quiet and calm.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek for a minute before answering. "Is there stuff to make tea here? I could really use a cup of tea. Oh, and I need to change my bandages." I snuggled further down into my blanket, eyes still flicking between the news coverage and the various readouts on the laptop screen.

"I believe I could find the required ingredients to make a pot of tea, and there is a first aid kit in the bathroom."

"Alfred," I called as the butler started walking, "How are you doing?"

He remained silent for long enough that I thought he wasn't going to answer. For the first time I could recall, Alfred looked unsure of what to say, and he actually rubbed his hands together like he was nervous. I got the feeling Bruce hadn't often consulted Alfred about his feelings concerning Batman. "I am well enough, Ms. Black," he eventually said. "I am obviously worried for Master Bruce's safety, but he is well-equipped and well-trained. He is more than capable of handling himself. As for the house… as much as I loved it, it was just a building. None of the guests were injured, so it could have been much worse." He gave me a small smile devoid of his usual warmth. "I would very much like to get some sleep when all this is done."

I nodded in agreement, returning the faint smile. "Have you seen what he's dealing with?" I asked, gesturing at the television screen. "Escaped inmates from Arkham Asylum, and the population of the Narrows, all contained on the island with most of the police in the city. Not to mention whatever the hell that drug is." I dropped my head to one side. "He's going to come back from this, right?"

"Yes, Ms. Black, I believe he will."

"He'd better."

-

Alfred managed to find some clean towels in the linen closet downstairs and some bath products in one of the bathrooms, and talked me into taking a quick shower. Since I didn't want to miss a second of the news coverage, I think it was the quickest shower I'd ever taken. Even so, it was plagued with images of the chaos in the Narrows, the burning manor, and the memory of Bruce's description of the effects of the drug.

What were my worst fears? What would I see if I was exposed to the toxin? What did Bruce see? Did he still see bats? Or was there something that scared him more now? I didn't know what my worst fears were, other than losing the people I cared about. Would I see my parents lying dead somewhere? Would I see Bruce, torn apart by the criminals and infected citizens he was fighting now?

I shoved my face under the hot water and scrubbed vigorously at my cheeks. That kind of morbid curiosity wasn't going to lead anywhere good, you could be sure of that.

There weren't any clean clothes, so I had to pull on the party dress again after I'd dried off, but I still felt better. Still angry, but better. I wasn't shaking or laughing anymore. I ran my fingers through my hair, attempting to comb it out of the rat's nest it had turned into, and made sure there were no garish remains of makeup clinging to my face before I left the bathroom. Back in the living room, Alfred cleaned my wounds, one of which had reopened at some point, and replaced the bandages with thick, snowy white gauze, taped firmly to my skin. There hadn't been any actual bandages in the house. By then, the tea Alfred had made had cooled enough to drink, so I huddled back in the blanket and drank the hot beverage, and I finally started to warm up and at least start approaching normal again.

I checked the GPS readout on the laptop—Batman had entered the Narrows—and the biological readouts from the Batsuit—nothing abnormal, but his heart rate had increased a little, as had just about every other readout. He was running around, fighting bad guys and God knew what else. I had a feeling the men who'd burned down Wayne Manor were out there as well.

I wished I had some way to tune into what he was hearing, some way to speak to him. I made a mental note to talk to Bruce about that after this whole mess was over, if he even wanted me to stick around. He seemed okay with it so far, but maybe there'd been too much going on for him to really think about it.

With a sigh and a big gulp of tea, I turned my attention to the TV, hoping for some more information as to the exact situation. The camera was no longer focused on the reporter. Instead, it was zoomed in on the Narrows. There was fog everywhere, and people were running back and forth; even across the river, you could heard the screams and gunshots and other assorted noises I didn't really want to think about. People were jumping into the water, attempting to swim, but in their stressed states, they were drowning or clambering back onto the side of the Narrows. Police and reporters were everywhere, yelling and arguing. It was chaos. And Batman, Bruce, was in the middle of it all.

"How long has he actually been back?" I asked suddenly. Anything to stop thinking about what was going on in the Narrows; gory images of people tearing each other a part kept flashing through my mind and exceptionally gory images of Batman being mauled were prevalent.

If Alfred thought the sudden question was odd, he made no comment. "I believe it has been almost eight months since Master Bruce returned to Gotham."

"Did he come back knowing he was going to become Batman?"

Alfred poured me more tea from the pot and added sugar. I stirred and took another grateful swallow. The tea was keeping me calm. "When I met up with Master Bruce outside Bhutan, he already had the idea for his alter-ego in mind, but that idea did not become Batman for quite some time. He knew he wanted to become a symbol, something not human, but I believe it was the discovery of the cave that led him to decide on an identity."

I sipped my tea and chewed my bottom lip. "Bats… Bruce used to be afraid of bats."

"I believe that was part of the allure."

"He never told me why he was afraid of bats, and I didn't understand."

I remembered Bruce and me lying on the grass outside one night while our parents were occupied with a social gathering, naming constellations we knew and making new ones. We'd been seven at the time. A colony of bats had blacked out the stars at one point, their chirps and wing beats filling the night. I'd laughed and gotten to my feet, running in circles, flapping my arms like wings. Bruce had remained on the ground, curled up with his eyes closed until the bats were gone. I'd asked him why he was scared of the bats, but either he didn't have an answer or he didn't want to tell me.

"I always thought bats were awesome," I added with a smile as the memory faded.

Alfred shared that smile. "It appears your opinion has not changed."

I blushed and stared down at my tea. "No, it hasn't." When I looked up at Alfred, he was giving me a knowing look and I had the sudden urge to cover my face and my blush with my hands. "What?" I asked instead, trying to make it seem like I really had no idea what the expression was all about.

His mouth turned up in a smile. "Nothing, Ms. Black. Would you like something to eat? I may be able to scrounge up something edible."

My cheeks darkened under Alfred's continued gaze. I kept trying to pretend like some significant information just hadn't come to the butler's attention. "Uh, sure… Alfred?"

"I will not say a word."

I heaved a sigh of relief and settled back on the couch, eyes on the TV once again. I hadn't really thought Alfred would say anything, but we were talking about feelings I didn't even understand, so I didn't want to take any chances. I would talk to Bruce when this was over, when we had a moment of quiet. If we ever had a moment of quiet again.

I was almost grateful when the anchor erupted in a panic, pointing and waving frantically as the monorail train shot by overhead, the car hurtling towards Gotham at a speed much faster than normal. Less than a second after the end of the train whipped past, a black shape spun through the air, apparently being dragged behind the monorail—Batman. Before I could really process the fact that Batman was in an incredibly dangerous position, a manhole cover shot out of the ground on a jet of steam, fog creeping out across the area even as the clang of the metal echoed.

"It's on the train," I muttered to myself. "The microwave emitter…" The wheels in my head finally started turning at an adequate pace. "If it gets to Wayne Tower, the entire city's water supply will be vaporized and that toxin will be everywhere…"

It didn't matter that I was on the mainland, away from the islands and the area that would be hit by the toxin, I still started to feel a little panicky. I didn't really want to find out what I would see if I inhaled the stuff.

"No, don't think about that—think about Batman stopping the train."

If he could get to the train.

If his line didn't get caught and break and send him falling to his death.

If he didn't slam into one of the concrete supports—

I shook my head and just focused on the TV screen.

The news camera feed went dead, leaving the TV to the sight and sound of static. I cursed loudly and flipped through the others news channels, but the only one with a picture didn't show anything useful or interesting, so all I had to go on was the laptop in front of me. I pulled the computer into my lap and stared hard at the screen, as if not blinking would allow me to pull some hitherto unseen piece of information from the pixels. The readouts were still high, but I expected that. He was fighting to save the city, and probably kicking the shit out of whoever was guarding the train. Exertion was to be expected.

Logical thinking, however, had no effect on the growing panic and worry inside.

I put the laptop back on the coffee table where it had been sitting and got to my feet, the comforter forgotten on the couch behind me as I began to pace around the living room, avoiding covered furniture, or at least attempting to; I bumped into a table or something enough times for my hip to bruise blue and purple. My mind was running through all the worst scenarios, providing me with many detailed images about what could be happening to Batman. Hard as I tried, I couldn't get my mind to go anywhere else. I was still pacing when Alfred returned, a tray laden with some food I didn't take the time to identify. I had chewed my bottom lip until it bled, and was still chewing. Alfred put his hands on my shoulders, stopping my progress.

"Come and have a bite to eat before you wear a hole into the floorboards," he said.

That was when we heard a loud noise, a crash or explosion of some kind, dulled by the distance, but no less alarming. The TV flickered back to life, showing the feed from a helicopter-mounted camera. It was hovering above Wayne Tower, and the twisted remains of the monorail track leading up to the building. Almost one entire side of the old tower had collapsed. There was smoke, dust, rubble, fire everywhere.

I spotted what was left of a monorail car in the middle of it all, remembered the sight of Batman, of Bruce, flying along behind it.

No one could have survived that.

I pulled away from Alfred and stumbled back to the coffee table, my eyes refusing to focus on the laptop's screen, unshed tears blurring the image. "You'd better not be dead," I told the computer as I wiped furiously at my face.

The numbers came into focus and my breath caught in my throat.

Somehow, he was alive.

He was in rough shape, but he was alive.

I fell back against the couch, my butt on the floor and put my head in my hands. I didn't cry, but I sure as hell felt like it.

I started to laugh again.


	10. Aftermath

The sun was just rising when Bruce got back to the guest house, the room lit with a cool, grey light. He came into the living room and dropped heavily onto the other end of the couch. It was the only place to sit, since Alfred and I hadn't bothered to uncover any of the other chairs or anything. I awoke when I felt the couch move under his weight. I'd actually been able to fall asleep once I'd known he was alive, and once the rather hysterical laughter had passed, though I'd probably only managed about two hours. When I pushed myself out of the ball I'd curled into while sleeping, I was sitting near the middle of the couch, about two feet from Bruce.

I rubbed my eyes until my vision wasn't blurry and then I looked at the man who'd just saved Gotham City from tearing itself apart.

He looked exhausted, but I'd expected that much. He was wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, presumably from some stash of clean clothes kept in the cave, but they couldn't hide the bruises and lacerations already forming on his arms and legs, the bruises that would no doubt cover the rest of his body. He must have taken one hell of a beating. Luckily for him, there didn't seem to be any lasting marks on his face, just dirt and grime. Those would have been much harder to conceal, or to explain away.

I reached over and tentatively touched his arm. He lifted his head and opened one eye. "Do you need anything?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper. It seemed wrong somehow, in the pale light leaking through the windows, to speak at full volume.

Bruce shook his head.

Something in the gesture, the look on his face, spoke to a deeper pain than anything physical. I didn't want to ask any more questions, so I sat there with the comforter curled around my legs, and stared at nothing while hoping Bruce would shed some light on what was going on. Hoping, but not really expecting. Sure, there were questions I wanted to ask, but I knew better than to push.

"That man you saw me speaking to last night," he eventually said, "his name was Ra's al Ghul. He was my mentor."

I decided acting like I wasn't surprised to be receiving the information was the best course of action. "And he was trying to destroy Gotham?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Bruce shifted a bit, reclined a little more into the cushions of the couch. I untangled myself from the blanket and spread it flat over my lap, offing him the other side; the house was rather chilly and I was pretty sure the comforter belonged on a king sized bed. He pulled it over his legs and gave a small sigh, like he was a little more content than he had been. I pulled my legs up under me as I turned sideways so I could more easily look at Bruce as he spoke.

"He is—was—the leader of a terrorist group called The League of Shadows."

"I thought The League of Shadows was just a conspiracy, like the Illuminati."

He shook his head. "They're real and very dangerous. They believe they fight the injustice in the world, balance the corrupt nature of humanity, but they do it with war and disease. After I'd been with them for several years, I learned that I had been intended to lead their troops against Gotham."

"And that's when you left?"

"That's when I came home."

Bruce turned to look at me for the first time since he'd returned, turning his body so he, like me, was sitting sideways on the couch, and I could see every hour of sleep he'd lost, even hit he'd taken. If I wasn't seeing everything he was feeling, I was at least seeing more than he usually let show. I put my cheek against the back of the couch and matched Bruce's gaze. Looking at him then, it didn't seem difficult to see Batman in his eyes, to understand that the playboy billionaire was the real mask. It suddenly seemed crazy that no one had figured out who he was, but then, Bruce had always been a pretty good actor.

"I'm sorry you lost your mentor," I said, voice still quiet and sombre.

He didn't say anything, just gave me a small twitch of his lips in acknowledgement.

We sat in silence, holding each other's gaze, while the sun rose, revealing an overcast sky and lighting the house with that weak, grey-blue light you get on cloudy days. I thought I heard Alfred moving around at one point, and the front door might have opened and closed, but I wasn't sure. Bruce closed his eyes after a while and his breathing evened out, telling me he was asleep. I didn't want to wake him by getting up and moving about the house, so I closed my eyes as well and found it easy to slip back into sleep; as I drifted off, I had the vague thought that sleeping sideways leaning against the back of the couch was going to mean a sore back and neck later, but I didn't move.

I didn't want to move.

-

"Can I ask you something about that night you stopped the mugger?" I asked as we trekked through the rubble of Wayne Manor.

The overcast skies hadn't cleared, but it wasn't raining anymore; about an hour of drizzle had quenched the remaining hot spots in the damaged house and made it safe to explore. I hadn't been present for most of the day, but I was there now, moving through what remained of a place I had many fond memories about.

About eleven that morning, Alfred had returned to the guest house, the door closing loud enough to wake me. I'd found I was alone on the couch and I was lying down, stretched out along the length. Either I'd just moved into the more natural position, or Bruce had moved me after he'd awoken. It took me a moment to extricate myself from the blanket and get on my feet. The butler reported that the exit he and I had used to leave the cave the night before hadn't been blocked too badly, and there was enough room on one side of the blockage to squeeze in and out of the cave. He'd retrieved some more of Bruce's clean clothes and had made a quick run into Gotham proper to purchase some new things for himself and Bruce. After putting his purchases away, he offered to drive me home so I could change and get properly cleaned up.

The thought of going home, getting changed had reminded me about work. I'd gone temporarily crazy as I tore through the room, looking for my cell phone, and when I finally located it—in my purse, where it was supposed to be but never was—I found several messages waiting. My parents were mad that Alfred had phoned them to tell them I was all right, and there was a message from Sarah, who was mad she'd had to find out from my parents. The worst were from Mr. Earle, increasing in volume and profanity as I went through them. Thankfully, Bruce was able to simultaneously calm me down and give me the best bit of news I'd had in a while, outside of finding out that Bruce was alive after the events of the night before: while Mr. Earle had taken the company public and the sale had been successful, Bruce had purchased the majority of the shares, once again bringing control of the company under the Wayne name, and allowing him to fire Mr. Earle, giving his position instead to Lucius Fox.

Regardless of what was going on with the company, I was off the hook and free for the day, though I was a little miffed about having this sprung on me. So I'd declined Alfred's offer and driven myself home in my car, which was only a little sooty and damp. At home, I'd called Lucius just to apologize and make sure it really was okay if I took the day off, and to find out if I had my job waiting for me. He was glad to hear that everyone had survived the night. So, after taking a long, long shower and changing into a much more functional pair of jeans, t-shirt, and the sweater from London, I drove back to the Wayne property.

Neither Alfred nor Bruce had been surprised to see me return.

Bruce studied the side of my face for a second, probably looking for some clue as to what I was going to ask. "Sure."

"Why were you even near Wayne Tower?"

He took a moment before answer, probably going back to that night. "I was on my way back from the Gotham Central police station, headed for the alley where I'd parked the car when I heard a scream."

I made myself go over that night in my mind, as much as I didn't want to think about it; I still had trouble getting to my parking spot when the garage was dark. I'd been parked on the first level of the parking garage, the only level partially exposed to the street, because of the entrance and exit. I didn't remember screaming, but the sound would have carried a little ways if I had screamed loud enough. Apparently I had, and apparently Bruce had been in the right spot to hear it.

"I guess I got lucky then," I said, "Really lucky."

Bruce nodded, giving me another look. "Is that the sweater you stole from me in London?"

I laughed, surprised he remembered. "Yes, yes it is."

"It's falling apart."

"It's seven years old."

"Why did you keep it?"

"I didn't intend to. I forgot it was in my drawer. Uh, can I ask you something else?" Bruce made a small gesture that I took to mean I could. "What did you ever do with that file I put together for you?"

"You are all about the questions today."

I extended my hands to either side. "Well I might not be if you told me what you were doing with the information I'd given you. I would have liked some forewarning about you rebuying the majority in the company and firing Mr. Earle as well."

"The file you put together for me helped me figure out which tools I would be using for my… recreational activities. As for the repurchase of my majority shares, I didn't think of letting you know. I'm sorry."

"Just don't fire me without telling me, all right?"

That earned me a short burst of laughter.

We came around the side of the remaining section of the back wall of the house then and found Alfred standing a ways away, watching a car approach. As we joined him, I recognized the vehicle and the woman behind the wheel: it was Rachel. As late as yesterday, I might have walked away from the conversation and potential confrontation, but now I remained standing beside Bruce, my hands deep in the pockets of the sweater and what I hoped was a neutral expression on my face. I felt I'd earned some sort of right to stand there. I watched her climb the steps, her eyes roving over the damage property, to Alfred, to me, and finally to Bruce. Her mouth curved up in a watery smile, though her eyes looked exceptionally sad.

"Does Rachel know?" I asked.

I didn't get a verbal reply, just a nod. Like at that party weeks ago, Bruce's attention was captured wholly by Rachel, and I felt like I'd suddenly become invisible. The pair of them walked past Alfred and I, following the path around the rubble Bruce and I had just completed.

"Ms. Black, may I be so bold as to assume you will be staying with us for the remainder of the day?" Alfred asked, I think in an attempt to keep my mind occupied.

I was appreciative of the attempt, but it wasn't going to work. "Yeah, count me in for at least the first part of the night too, Alfred." I started walking back to the centre of the rubble, a spot that used to be the downstairs library. "And call me Eleanor," I added with a smile.

Alfred returned the grin. "It has been a while since I have heard that request."

"Well, we've got a moment to breathe here. We might as well return to normal."

"I think we may have to find a new definition for normal if things are to continue this way."

I started poking around in the rubble with my feet. It had been dawn when the firefighters had packed up and driven off, the fire having burned itself down to a point where they could put it out. They had done a wonderful job in containing the blaze, and the surrounding landscape had only minimal damage to show. There were still a few solid pieces in the rubble, mostly things that had been made of metal and had been better able to withstand the heat, or things that had been farthest from the heart of the fire. There wasn't much though.

"As long as no more houses burn down, I think I might like this new normal," I told Alfred as I continued to toe my Chucks through the soot, turning the white toecaps black. "Although, I'm not sure repeating the roller coaster of emotions again and again will be good for my health."

I crouched down when I hit something heavy and mostly solid, and uncovered it using as light of a touch as I could manage. I flipped over the object, revealing a singed photo of Thomas and Martha Wayne, their smiling faces still visible. Part of the frame crumbled away as I picked it up, almost with bits of the pictures itself, but the two fragments containing the faces of Bruce's parents remained intact. Holding the picture pieces carefully, I got to my feet and made my way to where Bruce and Rachel were standing. Alfred didn't try and stop me.

"Batman's just a symbol, Rachel," I heard Bruce say as I approached.

It was horrible of me, but I ducked behind the section of wall that was still standing and listened to what was a rather intimate conversation. I hated myself a little bit in that moment.

"No, this, this is your mask. Your real face is the one that criminals now fear." I heard her inhale, the noise unsteady like there were tears in their somewhere, but Rachel had never been one for crying. "The man I loved, the man who vanished all those years ago, he never came home. Maybe he's still out there somewhere, and maybe I'll see him again, when Gotham no longer needs Batman."

I closed my eyes because I knew they'd be smiling at each other, reveling in the shared dream of ending up together, even if it was just for the moment. Part of me was shocked that Rachel wasn't going to support Batman, and another part of me—the part I was seemingly constantly at war with lately—was glad.

"But you proved me wrong, you know?" she continued.

"About what?"

"Your father would be very proud of you, just like me."

I heard them start to move and had one of those panicky moments where you can't decide which way to go, which would look less like you'd been eavesdropping. Bruce and Rachel stepped around the wall in the middle of the moment, giving me no choice.

"Eleanor?"

I gave a casual wave to Rachel, before extending the hand holding the fragments to Bruce. "I found this while looking through the rubble. It's a little worse for wear and in two pieces, but you can still see their faces."

He took the pieces, studying them like he'd forgotten what his parents looked like. The smile he gave me was warm and genuine and brought a similar grin to my own lips. "Thank you," he said. Bruce held my gaze for just a second, before he turned back to Rachel and they finished the journey back to Alfred, hand in hand.

"What will you do now?" Rachel asked once they were a few steps away from me.

I hung back, even though I really, really didn't want to. I knew when I was being intentionally cut out, and I could guess what Bruce's reaction would be to me interrupting.

"Rebuild it," he answered without hesitation, "just the way it was. Brick for brick."

I sighed and turned around, facing the backyard. I started walking back across the grounds, trying to enjoy the green of the lawn and the slight drizzle that had begun to fall, and trying to ignore the stubborn knot of jealousy in my gut. It wasn't something I was proud of, but it was something that was making want to scream and rave and do other things I knew I'd regret. Putting space between myself and Rachel was the best thing I could do.


	11. A New Start

"Eleanor, what are you doing?"

I swung around until I was hanging upside down from the harness, the height I was hanging from putting my eyes level with Bruce's, my ponytail hanging low beneath my head. "Alfred mentioned you wanted to make sure the cave was secure before construction on the house began." I tapped my leg against the light above me. "This light, and several of the others up here, were knocked loose from their brackets, probably by the house collapsing, so I'm putting them back into place so they don't fall down and set all your expensive toys on fire or something. Well putting them temporarily back in place anyway. I don't know much, or anything, about construction, but I figure I can at least tighten the screws."

Bruce looked up at me, his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth twisted slightly. "I would have taken care of that."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "When? You've got a company to help run now, in addition to being Batman, and you've got to keep up your awesome playboy persona," I added, heavy on the sarcasm. "Not to mention you've only got Alfred to help you will all this stuff and you have to sleep and eat at some point. You may be Batman, but even you'll start to falter if you don't take care of yourself. I don't mind helping, Bruce, and I'm a quick learner."

"I can see that," he said, eyes lingering on the harness.

I rolled my eyes. "The year after I graduated, after that trip to London, Sarah and I went rock climbing with the Colburn brothers," I explained as I pulled myself upright. I unhooked from the mooring and repelled down to the cave floor, landing with far more grace than I'd expected in front of Bruce. "I've been several times since then, and though this harness is a little more complicated than standard climbing fare, I figured it out eventually." I started unbuckling the harness, paused, and added, "Rock climbing is a good date."

That got me an uncharacteristic snort of laughter in response, a noise that split my face in a wide grin. Moments of joviality never lasted long with Bruce, and this one proved no different, especially since I had to force the conversation, the humour a little—I still wasn't sure I was processing everything that had happened, including my feelings for Bruce, in a good way. He started walking towards the cabinet holding the Batsuit, mind back on his purpose, so once I stepped out of the harness and had it returned to the place I'd found it, I followed him, realizing as I did that I'd left the tool belt hanging from one of the hooks in the wall several feet up. Oh well, I'd get it later.

"Are you planning to stay in the guest house until the manor is rebuilt?" I asked as he began to gather the supplies he'd take with him. I picked up one of the bat-shaped throwing stars he used and ran my finger carefully along the edge. It hadn't been sharpened yet, but the metal was still rough.

"It'll be too noisy and busy here. Alfred is having the penthouse in the city prepared, and it should be ready by the middle of next week."

"And the cave?"

"There is a safe room installed in the apartment, and I'll use that and the cave itself until the bunker on the shipping yard is usable, which shouldn't take very long. I can't be seen coming back here every night with the construction crews here." Bruce started stocking Batman's belt with the tools, his eyes never leaving his work. "I've already laid out plans to outfit the space once it's been drained of the water that's gathered. The space hasn't been used for years, since its original purpose proved impossible."

I wasn't interested in the bunker's original purpose, so I moved on to a topic that was more immediately relevant. "So, what do you want me doing while you're out tonight?"

He hesitated. "I don't really want you doing anything here tonight, Eleanor."

He still wasn't looking at me, and his voice was serious, almost deadly so, so I made sure all the humour was gone from mine. I leaned forward on the table, the batarang pinned beneath one hand, the shape of it pressing into the still-tender but now closed wound on my palm. "What? Why not?"

"I think you should go home."

"Why?"

"I don't think you should be involved with Batman."

"Why the hell not?" It wasn't hard to keep the humour from my voice now, as I was quite suddenly angry and hurt. All the anger I'd felt over the past little while rushed back to the surface and I could feel my face turning red.

Bruce seemed to have expected this reaction. He put down the belt and turned to face me, his face hard and determined, but his eyes less so. "It could be dangerous for you."

"So it should be my choice, if it's my well-being you're concerned with, and if it's not actually some dislike of having someone else in your personal space," I snapped. "And I'm not going anywhere. You're doing something good here, and I want to help, I want to be involved. You said yourself you wouldn't be able to stop me if I wanted to be a part of this, and here I am saying that I want to be involved." I narrowed my eyes at him pressed my lips together to keep from yelling nasty things. A heartbeat passed, and so did the urge to scream. "So find something for me to do, Bruce," I said, voice low and perhaps a little venomous.

The minutes of silence stretched on for far too long. I crossed my arms and stared at the table, chewing on my lip while I waited for him to say something. He'd been right about one thing though: I wasn't going anywhere. I'd made up my mind when I'd found out what Bruce did with his nights, even before I'd realized how much I wanted to be around him. Part of me thought I might only be this eager to help to get me close to him, to get around Rachel, but there was a part that really wanted to help Batman, that believed in what he was doing to help Gotham. Well that was a bit of inner turmoil to deal with later. Add it to the list.

I didn't get a straight answer from Bruce. He mumbled something about talking about this later, grabbed the utility belt, and moved into the shadows to assume his nocturnal identity.

I lifted my face to the bats on the ceiling and sighed.

-

Later turned out to be the ass-crack of morning.

"Why do you want to stay? Why do you want to put your life in danger?"

I rotated my head, massaging the back of my neck. When I looked up, I pushed my hair back from my face, forced my eyes wide to wake myself up a little bit more. He'd been asking me a version of the same question for about fifteen minutes, since he'd returned to the cave and shed the Batman costume, and I'd tried to answer—answer without exposing my feelings because, man, that would be awkward—but he kept pushing, looking for the real reason.

Maybe I would have to tell him. Maybe I wouldn't get the luxury of waiting until the right moment, or what I thought of as the right moment, to tell Bruce.

_God damn it._

"Isn't it enough that I want to help you protect Gotham the only way I can?"

He gave me this look that said he knew there was more to it, that he might even know what it was but he was just waiting for me to say it. He'd changed out of the Batsuit, but he still managed to look intimidating, standing there in a t-shirt and jeans. I drew my bottom lip between my teeth and then huffed loudly, turning my back on him and walking a few steps away. I could feel his eyes on my back; I glared at him when I turned back around. Right in that moment, I hated him a little bit.

_God fucking damn it._

"Fine. Fine, you know what? There is more." I squeezed my eyes shut and tilted my head back. What can I say? I shuffle and fidget a lot when I'm uncomfortable. "Ever since you returned to Gotham—"

"Eleanor—"

I opened my eyes, glaring again. "No!" I barked, jabbing him in the chest with my fingers. I hadn't realized I'd moved so close to him. "You wanted to know why I want to help Batman so bad, and I'm telling you, so shut up and listen!" I took a deep breath, tried to calm myself down enough so I could get through what I had to say without freaking out too much. "I really do want to help you save and protect Gotham, to stop people like Ra's al Ghul and Dr. Crane from destroying my home, and I want the sense of adventure that comes with it, but since you got back… I think I've…" I could feel my flushing red and hoped the dim light of the cave would hide it, or he'd think it was from anger. "Shit, Bruce, I have feelings for you, all right?" It came out a little snappish, but I didn't care. It was out there and my face was on fire.

Bruce didn't say anything, but he didn't look away. I held his gaze, my cheeks flaring even hotter.

I was the one who looked away. I was biting my lip and I was tired and there were tears threatening to start falling down my cheeks. I thought I'd be able to handle this better, but apparently intense emotional discussions when you hadn't really slept in two days were a bad, bad idea.

"Ellie."

His voice was quiet. He wasn't questioning me anymore. A light touch on my arm brought my attention back to Bruce, though the nickname would have done it. There was a look on his face that I couldn't comprehend, but it almost made me step closer to him.

I took a step back instead, ran the fingers of one hand back through my hair. "I shouldn't have said anything."

Bruce watched as I wiped at my eyes, those tears finally starting to leak. "I don't know what to say," he admitted.

"And why should you?" I forced my mouth up into a smile, the expression marred by tears. "You've spent your whole life expecting to end up with Rachel, and let's face it, you probably will end up with her if you have any say about it, and then you'll have a bunch of kids and you'll save Gotham without Batman and you'll have the life you always wanted and—" I snapped my jaw closed, squeezed my eyes shut, and shook my head. "I'm sorry. I'm just going to go home and get some sleep and, uh, you can call me if you want me to come back, okay?"

I didn't wait to hear an agreement or rejection. I didn't wait to hear anything. I turned around and moved through the cave, remembering at the last second to grab my bag.

-

I didn't sleep, not a wink.

Okay, maybe I passed out at some point, sprawled on the couch, but it wasn't a restful respite, that's for damn sure.

I alternated sprawling across the couch with sitting curled up against the armrest, staring out the window with watching whatever the hell was on TV. Or staring at it, rather. I didn't take in anything, not even the news coverage of Batman's exploits in the Narrows.

Somewhere around noon, Sarah showed up. She let herself in, since I hadn't bothered to lock the door—which I later realized was stupid of me—and sat on the other end of the couch, her grey eyes wide as she studied what was obviously my very dishevelled state.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked. "Besides the fire."

I sighed. "Can we not talk about it, please? I'm trying to sleep."

Sarah snorted. "I didn't think zombies needed to sleep."

I wanted to laugh, I really did, but I had zero energy, so I settled for falling over onto my side on the couch, my head beside Sarah's leg. She placed a hand on the side of my head and gave me a reassuring pat, smiling down at me in a way that was somehow comforting and annoying at the same time, but I was really glad she was there. Retrieving the remote from where it had landed when I'd last tossed it on the coffee table, Sarah started flicking through the channels, her hand idly stroking the hair back from face and lulling me to sleep.

When I awoke, Sarah had cooked, which meant she'd ordered food. Chinese to be exact. The containers were sitting on the coffee table, arranged on tea towels to protect the wooden surface from the heat or any leaking liquids. Sarah had her legs curled up under her and was eating those tiny spare ribs with chop sticks as she watched some romantic comedy on television. I could smell chicken and lemon sauce and it smelled good. My stomach rumbled loudly as I pulled myself off the couch, reminding me that the last thing I'd eaten had been a banana before running back to Wayne Manor, and sat in front of the table so I wouldn't drop any of the sauce on my couch as I ate.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"No problem."

I dipped a piece of chicken into the lemon sauce and savoured the flavour as I chewed. "Thanks for coming over as well."

"Well, my 'Eleanor is having some sort of crisis' senses were tingling."

I reached behind me and slapped at her leg. "How long was I out for?"

"About nine hours," she said when she'd swallowed her mouthful of food. "I thought about waking you, but you seemed to really need it."

"No phone calls or anything?" When Sarah shook her head, I sighed and ate some more lemon chicken. "Do I look any less like a zombie?"

Sarah studied my face for a long minute. "I'd say you look about half-zombified now."

"Well at least that's an improvement."

The phone rang then and, fueled with a sudden burst of energy, I launched myself across the living room to the phone, ignoring Sarah's surprised expression. I somehow managed to not hit the table and throw food everywhere. "Hello?"

There was a beat of silence, an inhaled breath. _"Hello."_

I was aware of my face splitting into a grin, of Sarah staring, so I moved into my bedroom so as not to be seen or heard. It was Bruce. The thoughts that had kept me up all day came back tenfold, my insides twisting with apprehension. I wanted to ask what he had decided, but I was scared to hear the answer. So I settled for something lame instead. "So?"

_"One hour."_ And then he hung up.

I was happy and relieved and just a little scared at what this would mean.


	12. Construction

_Three months since the defeat of Ra's al Ghul.  
Three months since the first appearance of the Joker._

It had been three months since the attack by the League of Shadows. Gotham had recovered quickly, though there were still escapees from Arkham Asylum running around the Narrows, and aftereffects of Crane's toxin were still popping up in the various hospitals throughout Gotham. The Asylum hadn't been secured yet, either, but GCPD was working around the clock to return the inmates to their home, or their new home in a repurposed wing of Blackgate prison, Gotham's home for "normal" criminals. Since Batman had taken out Falcone as well, the organized crime scene was in turmoil, though those problems hadn't spilled over into the public yet. Batman was keeping an eye on it.

On the other side of things, Bruce and Alfred had moved into the penthouse a couple weeks after securing the cave and packing up everything they could salvage. It was located in Midtown, towards the East shore of the island. It had two floors, was spacious, modern, and light, and you could see the water when the sky wasn't choked with smog, which happened less and less as the year proceeded towards the fall. I loved the apartment. I also loved the fact that my loft would have almost fit in the main room. Granted it had looked nothing but forlorn and forgotten for weeks and weeks, piles of boxes lining the halls and filling the spare bedroom while the sparse furniture was covered with white cloths and the corners were piled with dust. Alfred had spent a great deal of time getting the place into shape and, aside from a few boxes still lying around, it actually looked like somewhere billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne would live.

Alfred had pulled some things out of storage, and brought over some furniture from the guest house to fill the rooms and the shelves, and he had spent some time shopping for things to occupy the holes that were left. It seemed to be all that occupied his time when he wasn't attended to his duties as a butler to a vigilante or reading. Bruce had spent all of his time, when he wasn't at Wayne Enterprises or roaming the streets as Batman, prepping the bunker on an old Wayne shipping yard for use as a satellite cave. And me, well, when I wasn't working or going for runs through the park with Sarah, I was either at the penthouse, working from a set up in the office, or at home trying to catch up on sleep. The construction on the manor had reached full swing, and the cave proper was inaccessible. Thankfully, everything that was needed had been moved into the city, or the bunker.

It had been an interesting three months, while Bruce tried to find a way to operate that included me. It was hard to find a place when Batman didn't even have a permanent base of operations.

We'd been busy pretty much constantly, Bruce, Alfred, and I, and things didn't look like they were going to slow down anytime soon.

Currently, I had actually managed to find time for a break and was shopping with my mother. She'd been hounding me for ages, so I'd finally picked a Saturday and now I was walking through my mother's favourite department store, trying to pretend that my mind wasn't six hours in the future with Batman.

"Ellie, honey, are you sure you're feeling okay?"

I shook my head and smiled at Mom. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just… going through my mental calendar and figuring out if I have any events I'm committed to."

"Oh don't be silly. You don't need a reason to get a new dress!"

I rolled my eyes, but I was still smiling. "Mom, I don't wear dresses except for black tie events—"

"What about on dates?"

"When was the last time I had a date?"

"When was the last time you had a date?"

I moved off the main walkway and headed towards the dresses, knowing full well that my Mom would keep pestering until we'd at least looked at the gowns. "Whenever the last time Sarah set me up with a guy was." I paused as I flipped through some dresses, looking for my size. "Oh wait, I went on two dates with the last guy."

"And why was there no third date?"

I shrugged and draped the blue floor-length gown over my arm. "I didn't like him enough."

Naomi snorted a laugh as she picked out four more dresses for me to try on and tossed them into my arms. "You are never going to give me grandchildren, are you?" she asked as she shuffled me off towards the change room.

"I'm only twenty eight," I said as I shut the door behind me and dropped my purse on the floor to start undressing. Using an elastic I kept around my wrist, I bound my long hair into a loose ponytail and the base of my skull and pulled off my clothes. I grabbed one of the dresses my mother had picked out first. It was lime green with a halter top and it fell to mid-thigh. I stepped out into that little hall outside the line of change rooms to be scrutinized. "And I'm not even sure I want kids."

"Not even with Bruce Wayne? And you're getting that dress; it looks fabulous."

My face flared bright red at the mention of me and Bruce, but I didn't even bother to try and hide it. Mom would have seen it anyway. "Bruce and I are just friends."

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with him."

"I work for the CEO of his company." I withdrew back into the little cubicle and swapped the green dress for a knee-length coral thing that I hated instantly for the colour, but I stepped back out to show Mom anyway. "I hate this one."

"Yeah, it's not your colour. And does working for Lucius Fox mean you have to stay with Bruce the night he burned his house down? Help him move into his apartment?"

The third dress was the bright blue one I'd picked out. In addition to being floor length, it was strapless. Not my favourite style, but oh well. "Like I said, Mom, we're friends." My cheeks were still red. I didn't want to talk with my mother about this; I hadn't even talked to Bruce about it. "What do you think of this one?"

"You have a million blue dresses already, honey."

"It's a nice dress, Eleanor."

I gave a little start at the new voice. Rachel was standing at the entrance to the fitting rooms, a couple things in her arms. She wasn't wearing a suit, so I knew she wasn't spending the weekend at the office. I gave a small, emotionless smile, more a social reflex than anything else. "Hi Rachel."

"Hello. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Black."

"You too dear. Any men in your life?" my mother asked. Naomi was just making polite conversation in his bizarre way, and she couldn't have known she'd hit on a touchy subject. She did, however pick up on the increased tension. "Ah, well then, if you two will excuse me, I think I'll head back out to the dresses. Find you something to replace the coral thing, dear."

Rachel and I watched my mother leave, before turning to face each other once more. I crossed my arms under my breasts and shifted my weight to the other foot. Rachel adjusted her hold on the bundle of clothes in her arm.

"Go ahead and ask," she said after a minute. "I know it's probably killing you to find out so you can tell Bruce."

I didn't repeat my mother's question. I didn't really care anyway, so I asked a question I wanted the answer to. "Why haven't you been to see him? I thought the two of you were waiting for the right time to make a go of it." I was proud that I managed to keep most of the bitterness out my voice. I don't know if Rachel knew how I felt about Bruce, but she wasn't stupid. She'd figure it out if I gave her enough clues. Hell, maybe she'd figured it out already.

She shifted again, her eyes darting to the floor. "I'm not sure I know how to talk to him anymore," she said.

I had a feeling she wasn't sharing everything, but why should she tell me the whole truth? "He's not going to stop," I said, knowing she'd know what I was getting at.

Rachel nodded. "You're working with him?"

"Doing my best to."

Silence fell and we stared at each other, awkward and tense. We'd graduated far beyond the shouting and name-calling and slaps we'd employed as children, but I didn't think things would ever be… comfortable between us, regardless of much we had in common.

"Doesn't it scare you?" Rachel asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Sometimes."

That seemed to be all there was to say, so without either of us saying anything else, we gave our farewells and retreated into our respective changing rooms. I shed the blue dress and changed into the last one my mother had picked out, a simple black affair, and waited for Naomi to announce her presence before I risked the chance of having to face Rachel again.

-

Three new dresses and several hours later, I was standing in the penthouse kitchen, flipping through a magazine and waiting for a pot of coffee to percolate. At some point in the afternoon, it had begun to rain, and the water was pounding against the walls of windows in the main room. The noise was comforting and relaxing, and I needed it after my run-in with Rachel. What I really wanted was a cup of tea, but tea didn't have enough of a kick to keep me awake through most of the night.

I heard the elevator come to a stop down the hall, the sing sounding quiet than normal under the din of the rain. Bruce's footsteps were loud on the hardwood floor. He came right to the kitchen, probably looking for Alfred, who was out buying groceries.

It had been three months, and Bruce had let me become more involved in his life, but I wasn't sure he was used to finding me around yet, or having me to having me to talk to. In fact, we hadn't spoken of much other than the construction work on the manor or anything related to Batman, and we certainly hadn't spoken of the fact that I'd told Bruce I had feelings for him. Things were awkward or anything, but they just weren't… anything, really. We were just sort of coexisting with the giant elephant in the room. Or maybe I was the only one who could see the elephant. It might not have bothered Bruce at all. It probably didn't.

"How's the manor look?" I asked by way of greeting, since I know Bruce would have at least called the foreman to check on progress. I mentally slapped myself for not being able to come up with something else, something better, something that would help broach that subject, because I wanted to talk about it. I just didn't know how.

He shrugged with one shoulder, ran a hand back through his hair. "They've got the rubble cleared away, the cellars cleared out, and the supplies shipped in, and the foreman finally located a copy of the original plans for the house."

"So they've got the framework started?"

Bruce nodded. "Almost half of the first floor is up. I'll go out to the grounds tomorrow to see for myself."

The coffee started to drip into the pot, so I pulled two mugs out of the cupboard and added sugar to both, more in mine. I'd made enough coffee for the two of us to know how Bruce took his. "And the bunker?"

"The hydraulic doors and compartments are all installed and working, and the computers have all been ordered. The hidden ramp is almost finished as well. Once everything's arrived, we'll start setting up the final setting. I have most of the temporary system in place and we can start working from there soon."

"Can I get into the bunker without you there?"

"Yes."

I turned towards the coffee pot as it finished and poured some into each much; as much as I hated the taste, coffee always smelled really good. "Good. I just want to familiarize myself with the system before actually attempting to use it while you're out. Every time you update the computers, they get more complicated."

I handed him the mug with less cream and sugar and followed him across the huge living room/library/whatever the hell else you'd use a giant room for and up the wide staircase to the office. I dropped into my chair and took a sip form my mug as I rolled out of the way, grimacing as the bitter taste washed over my tongue. Bruce pulled his chair in front of the monitors and brought up some reports from earlier that morning, including several shots of the docks and a grainy, security camera picture of the man who called himself the Joker.

He'd shown up after the incident in the Narrows and he was believed to have been one of the escaped inmates of Arkham Asylum. GCPD hadn't been able to match him to any of the patient files pulled from the wreckage of the asylum, and neither had I or Bruce. No one knew if he'd been one of Dr. Crane/Scarecrow's experiments, but it seemed likely. Regardless of who he was, the Joker had started with armed robbery and a double homicide, and he hadn't slowed down. Every time he struck, someone died. No matter what crime he was committing, he always made sure a security camera caught his face, white paint, green hair, and horrid scars smeared with bright red lipstick. Bruce was sure the Joker was building up to something more and I was sure he scared the shit out of me.

"You have any idea who he is yet?" I asked, staring at the computer screen over the rim of my mug.

"No. I can't find anything on him before he committed that first robbery, the one that Gordon told me about."

"And still no idea what he might be up to?"

"No." I saw the muscles in his jaw bunch as he clenched his teeth together. He took a big gulp of coffee and exhaled slowly, calming himself. The Joker puzzle was bothering Bruce, and had been since the clown had shown up. I couldn't say I blamed him. People were dying, had been dying since he showed up. He needed to be stopped. "I'm going to see if I can find anything out tonight, but I don't think there will be any new information. All of his targets have been convenience stores in bad neighbourhoods without much security."

"Are you going to Gordon?"

Bruce nodded. "He's willing to work with me, at least for now, and he's had people working on finding the Joker since he showed up."

"He's also had people trying to figure out who you are."

"That wasn't his choice."

I smiled, taking another mouthful of coffee to hide the expression from Bruce. I knew if I asked, Bruce would deny that Gordon was his friend—hell, he'd probably deny that I was his friend too—but I knew Jim Gordon had helped Batman stop Ra's al Ghul and I knew Bruce valued the police lieutenant's assistance and input. Jim Gordon was Bruce's friend, whether Bruce liked it or not. I had met the lieutenant once at a police benefit about a month before and found him quite likable. I was also fond of the spotlight Gordon had had installed on the roof of the Major Crimes Unit, and the bat-shaped silhouette it cast on the clouds.

"Have you got anything else planned other than patrol?"

"A second body appeared in the water by the docks Downtown."

"Mutilated like the last?" Bruce nodded. A nasty thought occurred to me. "The autopsy of the last victim said there were human-like teeth marks in some of the tissue… were there any cannibals in Arkham?"

"Two, but neither of them survived the chaos on the island and both their bodies were recovered, and the police aren't even sure the bodies are connected yet."

"Oh, well there goes that idea."

Silence fell after that, a tense silence that had become all too familiar over the past little while. It was probably only tense on my end, but every time the two of us were alone together, I kept replaying that early, early morning in my head, when I'd told Bruce I felt more than just friendly things towards him. I always wondered if there was something I could have done differently—aside from keeping it to myself, even though I knew if I had, I'd be sitting there, stress eating me alive from the inside out. I wanted to know what Bruce thought about the whole situation, but I was too chicken to ask.

Somewhere in the middle of my current recollection, I heard the elevator ding again, signaling Alfred's return with groceries. I excused myself and went to help the butler put away the groceries, bringing the empty mugs with me.

-

_"I'm on my way back, so you can head home now."_

I adjusted the headset so I could scratch the side of my head. "Do you mind if I crash in the spare bedroom? I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open and I don't want to try and drive."

There was a brief hesitation, but I didn't know if it was because he didn't want to say no, or because of something I couldn't see on the road distracting him. Just as I was about to say something else, Bruce answered, in the Batman growl, "That's fine." It sometimes took him a bit to drop the voice he adopted for his masked alter ego. The voice had startled me at first, but I was used to it now.

"We have a board meeting in the morning anyway, and my parents are coming here for dinner tomorrow night under Alfred's invitation as a sort of apartment-warming thing or whatever, now that the place is finally suitable for company. And Rachel's coming too, right?" I grimaced to myself, glad Bruce couldn't see my face. Or hear the gesture. Though, he probably knew what my feelings were on the situation without seeing the twist of my lips. I hadn't told him about our chance meeting that day, and I wasn't overly keen on seeing her again so soon.

"Yes."

"All right. See you in a few."

I pulled the headset off, untangling it from my hair. It felt strange, like I was missing part of my head, just as it did every night. Gathering up the paraphernalia of my stint in the office—my mug, a plate, a couple empty pop cans—and moved quietly through the apartment, depositing my dishes in the dishwasher and the cans in the recycling bin in the kitchen before heading back upstairs to the spare bedroom. The light was on under Alfred's door, but that didn't necessarily mean that he was still awake. I whispered good night to his door, and stepped into the smallest bedroom in the apartment, which wasn't saying much. It was still pretty big. Bigger than my bedroom at my apartment, anyway.

I kept a small bag of things with me for situations just like the current one—I'd tried to drive home once after a patrol, even though I was exhausted, and nearly got myself killed—so after changing into the baggy t-shirt and plaid boxers that were my pyjamas, I headed back downstairs to get a glass of water, moving as silently as I could through the apartment; I wasn't as good at the sneaking as Bruce, so I did make some noise. I got as far as the main room before I heard Bruce coming up the hallway for the second time that day.

Instead of wearing a suit, he was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He looked tired, but not overly so, which was probably thanks to him pulling insane hours every night. He stopped at the mouth of the hall and looked at me, standing still in the middle of the empty room. We held each other's gaze. It was one of those deer-in-headlights moments when you wait for the other person to say something or make a move. Apparently, it was my turn to go first.

"Are we ever going to talk about it?" I blurted.

Maybe it was exhaustion, or impatience, or something else entirely, but I had no idea why it came out like that. My face turned bright red, my eyes went wide and I wanted to take it back, to shrink away into the shadows, but I forced myself to remain there, returning the blank stare I was getting.

"Well?" My voice cracked slightly.

Bruce crossed the room, coming to a stop a few feet away from me, probably so we wouldn't have to yell and disturb Alfred. He stared at me for a few more minutes, his dark eyes intent. "Eleanor," he said, the tone of his voice telling me he was fighting to keep himself calm. But it wasn't anger lurking under that voice. There was something else, something I couldn't identify. "What… what do you want me to say?"

I took a deep breath and ran the fingers of one hand back through my hair. There was a sort of panicky fluttering inside. "I want you to tell me whatever you're feeling, thinking about the fact that I told you I'm attracted to you, that I have feelings for you! It's been three months Bruce!" I moved closer to him, my hands balled into fists at my sides so I wouldn't start gesturing wildly or something and accidentally smack Bruce in the face—that had actually happened once. "I'm tired of tiptoeing around, afraid of what I might say and of what I'm thinking! We were friends—are friends—and I'm trying to help you and you don't want me here and I don't know why I made you let me stay and—"

Bruce put his hands on my shoulders, bringing my stream of babbling to a close and drawing my attention hard to his face. He'd always been good at predicting when I was about to go off on a tangent. There were tears in my eyes and I did nothing to keep them from falling. I didn't have the energy; I really, really needed to remember to sleep before having intense, emotional conversations. Bruce didn't say anything, but he reached up and brushed the tears off my cheeks with his thumbs. I blushed a deeper red and reflexively looked down to hide it when he withdrew his hands. I could still feel his fingers against my jawline and the touch of his thumbs on my cheeks. There was a bizarre sort of electricity running along my nerves.

"Ellie, you didn't make me do anything," he said quietly.

I looked up at him, one corner of my mouth twitching upward. "Good," was all I managed to say.


	13. Relocation in Adjustment

_Six months since the defeat of Ra's al Ghul.  
Six months since the first appearance of the Joker._

"Do you have that report on the incoming shipments from Turkey?"

I shuffled some papers between my arms and withdrew the thick folder I'd spent the morning compiling so I could hand it to Lucius. He tucked it under his arm as we walked down the hall, back towards his office. "I've almost managed to sort out a time for the meeting with Mr. Lau from LSI Holdings as well."

"It's about time."

I gave a short burst of laughter. "Yeah, the woman I've been dealing with seems to think her boss is above compromise, even though they were the ones to approach us about this deal." I managed to get the stack of things I was carrying in the crook of one arm so I could walk normal and not awkwardly hunched to one side. "As soon as I cement a date and time, I'll put it in the books and let you know."

"Thank you, Eleanor."

I smiled at my boss, still relatively new to the position. Since Bruce had given Lucius the job as CEO of Wayne Enterprises, my job had become both easier and more difficult. I'd taken on the responsibilities of both a personal and business assistant, so I had more to do, but I didn't mind so much since Lucius was someone I admired and someone I considered a friend. Also, he didn't really need a personal assistant, because he'd done things for himself most of his life, unlike Mr. Earle, who had come to rely on his assistant to function. Lucius also treated me with respect and kindness and not like a lackey. Not to mention, we both knew Bruce's secret and though we never spoke of it outright, it was nice to have someone to talk to about it other than Alfred, even if I had to use roundabout or vague terms.

When we reached Lucius's office, I dropped the stack of files on my desk outside his door and grabbed my wallet from the locked drawer I kept my purse in during the day. After checking if Lucius wanted anything other than the normal cup of coffee, I took the elevator down to the cart in the lobby, where I got a chai tea latte and glazed lemon scone for myself and a coffee with sugar and a touch of cream for Lucius.

"So, how is Bruce handling the news?" Lucius asked as I sat across the wide desk from him a few minutes later.

I swallowed a mouthful of pastry and shrugged. I'd known we were going to talk about this at some point, but that didn't mean I was ready. "He hasn't really said anything to me yet, though I know he's not happy about it."

I pushed some hair back from my face and scratched my head as I searched for the right words—if there were any—to describe Bruce's reaction and behaviour since finding out that Rachel Dawes, the woman he'd planned on spending his life with, was now dating Harvey Dent, the man leading the running for District Attorney. As far as I knew, he had found out at the same moment I had: watching the news in the semi-finished bunker while preparing for patrol two weeks ago, when the news had been officially released. The night following that revelation had been a tense one and one full of fighting over just about everything, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. I could guess why Rachel hadn't told Bruce about her dating Harvey Dent, but I was still sort of shocked she hadn't. Rachel was many things, but a coward wasn't one of them.

The last time I'd seen her—she'd stopped by the penthouse about a month ago to drop something off—she'd been sort of fidgety and always looked on the verge of saying something. Maybe she'd tried to tell Bruce that she was seeing Harvey. Maybe she didn't know how to tell him, how to talk about it.

When it came down to it, I could understand how Bruce was feeling—exactly how he was feeling—but I could also sympathize with Rachel being afraid to talk about it, or unsure how to do so. I felt myself begin to blush and looked down, suddenly very interested in my scone.

Six months, lots of fighting, and a couple attempted conversations about my exposed feelings and still, not much had changed.

Maybe I should just get over it.

"How are you handling the information?"

"I'm not sure," I answered before thinking. I gave a little start at my own stupidity—though it wasn't like I was a master of hiding my feelings, especially from people who had known me most of my adult life—and narrowed my eyes at Lucius.

"Has Mr. Wayne sent any requests with you today?" Lucius asked, his expression suggesting innocence.

I was very grateful to Lucius for directing the conversation to another topic, though I didn't miss the knowing glint in his eye. "Uhm, no, but he'll be in this afternoon to pick up that prototype listening device, so maybe he'll have one for you then." I smiled over the rim of my paper cup and savoured the flavour of the tea as I took a big swallow—so much better than coffee. My cell buzzed at that moment. "Speak of the devil," I mumbled as I picked it up and found Bruce's face on the screen. He was smiling in the picture, a moment I'd just managed to capture. "Hey—what's up?"

_"Can you get to the bunker right after you're done work?"_

"Of course. Why?"

_"We've finally got a lead on where that new drug is being manufactured, and who's behind it."_

I gave a small shudder as I thought about the reports I'd read, the footage I'd seen of those who'd become addicted to the new drug making its way through Gotham. More often than not, they tore themselves apart, scratched their own eyes out, pulled out their own innards. The drug bore similar properties to the toxin Dr. Crane had used as Scarecrow, but there was no confirmation that it was the same drug, or that Dr. Crane was making it. Regardless, it had become widespread very quickly and Bruce wanted to stop it before it left Gotham in any sort of large scale.

"Yeah—yeah, I'll be there at six at the latest. Did you want me to grab that prototype from Lucius while I'm here?"

_"Yes. I may have uncovered a lead on the Joker as well."_

"You have been busy. Are you going to tell Gordon?"

_"If it turns out to be anything."_

"Are you going to tell me what it is?"

_"Later."_

"All right. See you in a few hours." I hung up the phone because Bruce never said goodbye anyways, and smiled at Lucius. "Looks like I have a request after all."

Lucius chuckled as he pushed himself out from behind his desk. He pressed a hidden button and a section of the bookcase swung forward, revealing an elevator. The elevator only went to one place: Applied Sciences. Since taking over the company, Lucius had shut off the department and its files from public access, turning the place into Batman's private armoury. The only people who could get into the massive underground department of pull up the digital records were Lucius, Bruce, and, since Bruce had decided that maybe he could actually trust me, myself. So, as the doors closed and the bookshelf swung back into place, I pressed my thumb to the scanner and pulled my ID card through the reader, and the elevator began to descend into the depths of Wayne Enterprises.

-

Around one that morning, I was standing in the bunker, dressed in a pair of jean shorts, t-shirt, and bare feet, the headset firmly on my head and the sound of Batman's latest escapade in my ears; it may be November outside, but damn it, I was going to be comfortable in the concrete bunker. I was walking a short circuit near the desk, since the cord on the headset wasn't long enough for anything else and the wireless headset tended to lose connection thanks to the concrete, though Bruce was working on that. There was a half-eaten sandwich on the desk, all that was left from the food Alfred had brought with him hours ago—he always brought enough to last me through the night, since he knew my habit of snacking while doing whatever it was that Batman would require. The butler had gone back to the penthouse about an hour ago. My cell phone was in my pocket so I would feel it if it buzzed with another text from Sarah; her latest boyfriend had dumped her for another woman that morning.

The bunker around me was still quite empty and definitely not set up the way Bruce wanted it yet, but the computers were functioning and there were boxes full of Batman's paraphernalia scattered around, waiting for a place to call home. There were only two worktables, both made of metal and concrete and forming an L-shape in the near middle of the room. I knew Bruce missed the array of workstations in the cave underneath Wayne Manor, but I'd seen the plans for the satellite space, and knew Bruce had plenty of ideas that were still taking shape. In fact, there were concrete slabs propped against one of the walls and metal mounts already bolted to the floor, waiting for their use as tables. The final phases of the construction wouldn't take long to finish, or not nearly as long as the hidden road for the Tumbler anyways. I was quite excited to see the finished product.

_"It is Crane behind the drug,"_ Batman suddenly said, startling out of my thoughts. He'd followed up on the lead about the drugs when the lead relating to Joker had turned out to be nothing, much to Bruce's anger, but not really to his surprise.

"You got a visual?"

_"Yes. He's working with the Chechen, probably as a supplier."_

I dropped into my chair and leaned back with my feet propped up on the desk, ankles crossed. I frowned at my mental picture of the Chechen, a greasy thug working his way up the criminal ladder. My phone buzzed, signalling a nearly indecipherable text from Sarah, who was evidently drunk. I tucked it away to try and answer later. "What's the next step? Call the police? Gather more information?" I leaned forward and keyed in the sequence that connected me to the GPS in the Batmobile. I rotated the map until the 3D buildings popped up and I got a better idea of the situation.

_"Information and tracking. I need them in a place where I can apprehend them both. The Chechen brought his dogs and four armed guards and Crane's got guards of his own, and the place is probably rigged."_ I heard him start walking, probably heading to a better vantage point for visuals or recording or something; the bright green dot representing Batman on the screen moved across the rooftop he was on. _"Sending the police in now would probably result in a lot of dead cops."_

"Okay, okay, no police." I grabbed my bottle of water from the desk and took a large gulp. "How's the prototype hearing device working out?"

_"Good. The range is almost double the previous one."_

"I'll be sure to thank Lucius on your behalf then."

I didn't get a response and this time, it wasn't because he didn't have one.

It was because an explosion went off.

The sound thumped against my eardrums painfully, even through the headset.

My heart thudded in my chest. My breath stopped in my throat. "BRUCE!" I yelled, my voice cracking. I never called him by his name over the headset normally, but this was not a normal circumstance. "BRUCE!" There was no answer. I was on my feet, bringing up the screen displaying the biofeeds from the Batsuit. There was no information. There were no security or traffic cameras nearby to use to get a view of what was going on. It suddenly became hard to breathe, but I forced myself to keep moving. I reset the connection to the suit. Still nothing. "Bruce," I gasped. I think I'd been saying his name over and over for the past minute. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.

He couldn't be dead.

I didn't know what I'd do if he was dead.

He couldn't be dead.

No.

It wasn't possible.

_"Here,"_ a small voice breathed.

It was so faint that I thought I might have been imagining it. I stopped typing and closed my eyes to concentrate on sound. "Bruce?"

_"Don't call me that."_

I exhaled a long sigh of relief, and only then did tears start prickling at my eyes. I nearly crumpled to the floor as the relief swept through me. "Oh my God. Are you all right?"

_"Mostly."_

My cell phone was already back in my hand, poised to dial Alfred at the penthouse. "Can you get back here on your own or do you need me or Alfred to come and get you?" Using my free hand, I wiped the tears from my eyes.

_"I'm on my way back now. The Tumbler may need some repairs."_

I dropped into the chair heavily and slumped fairly far down, my red-brown hair sticking up in all directions around my head. "Repairs on the Batmobile I can handle. Repairs on you—that's another story." I think Bruce responded, but I wasn't sure. I pulled the headset off and tossed it on the desk, closing my eyes and concentrating on breathing steadily. I don't think I wanted to hear his response to that.

Some amount of time later—I was too busy concentrating on keeping myself together to pay attention to something as mundane as the passage of minutes—I heard the unmistakable rumble of the Batmobile and the hydraulic hiss as a section of the wall swung up, allowing the low-slung vehicle to enter the bunker via the hidden road. It came to a stop at the far end of the bunker, away from the workbenches. I opened my eyes and got to my feet as the hatch slid open and Batman climbed out. He was moving a little slower than normal, a little more hunched, and he actually leaned on me when I offered, which meant he was really hurting. As we moved, he seemed to loosen up a little bit.

"What happened?" I asked as Bruce sat in my chair; it was a lot more comfortable than the stool he normally occupied, so I didn't blame him.

He pulled the cowl off over his head, his hair standing up every which way and dripping with sweat, and dropped it on the desk. There was a purplish bruise along his jaw and I could see part of another bruise on his neck, peeking up above his collar. He winced as he turned to try and unlatch the survival suit, but because he was Bruce, he kept trying and his pained expression only got worse. I pushed his hands away and started undoing the complicated clasps, the armour splitting open like a shell, revealing the black t-shirt and shorts he wore beneath the suit. He breathed a little sigh of relief as the pressure of the suit on his body released.

"What the hell happened?" I asked again, as more bruises on his right arm and leg became apparent. He didn't answer, and it occurred to me that he might not be able to hear properly, what with an explosion going off nearby. "Bruce, what happened?" I made sure to raise my voice.

He looked at me, almost like he was surprised to find me standing there. "Crane was waiting for me to show up. The building I was on was rigged with explosives. I wasn't careful enough. The building was empty though."

I heard the words, but I was too busy studying the bruises on his body to really process them. There was no blood, and no abnormal spots in the bruises that I could see. I was positive there were bruises underneath his shirt, but that was where the armour was heaviest, so he probably wasn't bleeding internally, but I was still distressed. I would have said something, but Bruce would get Alfred to look it over when he got back to the penthouse. That knowledge was all that was keeping my mouth shut.

"That's good," I mumbled. Okay, well, mostly shut. "I'm guessing flying rubble is to blame for all the purple and black you're currently sporting?"

He nodded. "I was caught by the edge of the explosion and I managed to get off the roof before it collapsed completely. Some of the rubble landed on the car."

I sighed, my hands on my hips. Like I'd said, I didn't care about the Tumbler. It could be fixed much easier than Bruce could. I was still trying to centre myself after thinking Bruce had been blown up. I'd been Batman's assistant or whatever for around six months, and this—aside from that first night when Bruce had been fighting to save Gotham from his former mentor—was the scariest thing I'd ever dealt with. My hands were shaking pretty bad and all I wanted to do was hug Bruce and tell him I was glad he was alive and that he wasn't allowed to scare me like that ever again, but I knew those actions wouldn't be well-received, so I held my tongue.

"Are you sure you're all right?" I asked eventually, still speaking with my voice raised. "You don't need to go to the hospital or anything?"

Okay, so I wasn't that good at keeping my mouth shut.

Bruce had moved away from the desk and was hanging up the Batsuit in its specially designed compartment. The compartment slid into the floor, the top of it matching smoothly with the floor and making it invisible, unless you knew what you were looking for. There were several other compartments similarly hidden in the floor and walls, holding and/or hiding the rest of Batman's things.

"I'm fine."

I kind of wanted to scream at him now. I retrieved my bag from the floor and started shoving my things into it. The tears were back and, in the wake of the brief surge of adrenaline, they started to fall. "Well good. At least we now know you can handle being blown up."

"Eleanor—"

I stopped what I was doing, looked up at Bruce and gave him my very best glare. "Don't 'Eleanor' me. I'm sorry if I'm not as cavalier as you when it comes to explosions. You are not fine, Bruce." For some reason, the book I was trying to shove into my purse wouldn't cooperate. I threw it on the desk, covered my eyes with one hand, the other on my hip, and concentrated on breathing evenly, on bringing myself under control. Or trying to, anyway. "You were just in a fucking explosion! I thought you were dead!"

"Eleanor."

I pulled my hand away and looked up at him. I knew my usually bright blue eyes would be dark with emotion.

"They're just bruises. I'll be okay."

I thought he was doing his best to be comforting, but that had never been a strength of his. With a harsh sigh, I finished gathering up my things and made sure I had everything. "Then I'm going home to finish some work for Lucius that should have been done two days ago. Call me if you need anything."

"Eleanor."

I stopped and looked up at Bruce again. He actually looked tired, worn out. "What?"

"I'm sorry your birthday had to start like that."

I blinked, not shocked that Bruce had remembered my birthday, but that he was acknowledging how shitty the day had started. An unexpected smile slid across my lips. "You're alive and in one piece—you'll be fine. It could have been a lot worse." I swung my bag onto my shoulder, my cars keys in my hand. I pushed my messy hair out of my face. "But now, you are most definitely coming to the party my parents are throwing."

"I'll be there."

I gave another smile and the left the bunker, headed for my car parked a few blocks away from the shipping yard.

-

"How did you get Bruce to come to this thing?" Sarah asked. "I thought he'd said he was busy."

I looked across the living room of my parents' house to where Bruce was engaged in conversation with Lucius. The dark green sweater he was wearing hid most of the bruises. The only visible one was the purple spot on his jawline, which he was explaining away as a drunken accident or something—I hadn't really been paying that close of attention.

"He owed me a favour," I said.

"Oh, well that's not cryptic at all." I could feel Sarah staring at the side of my head, trying to pry the information out of me. "Oh you know what, you just stand her and drool over the billionaire playboy. I am going to go get me a date for Saturday night so I can get over Bradley." She took a few steps away, stopped, and turned back. "If you can ever pull yourself away from work for long enough, we should go on a double date again sometime soon. I can find you a guy."

I smiled at Sarah. The idea didn't really appeal to me, but I'd always had a good time on the dates Sarah arranged. "Sure. Just let me know."

She rolled her eyes and moved into the crowd filling my parents' house.

"How are you doing?" my father asked from my other side. He gave me a one-armed hug and kissed my cheek. "I know this isn't the kind of party you would have thrown for yourself."

I leaned into my Dad's shoulder, my arms still crossed over my chest. "I'm having a good time, though I don't know many of these people very well, but this will make Mom happy."

"Well she certainly is that." He gestured towards the other end of the living room, where my red-headed mother was having a very animated conversation with Sarah's parents. Even from the distance I was at, I could see her cheeks were flushed. She was clearly enjoying the champagne or wine or whatever was in her glass. "Thank you for letting her do this."

"Dad, you don't have to thank me. Left to my own devices, Sarah and I would have probably just gone out for drinks." Or I would have stayed in the bunker, or at the penthouse doing something for Batman. Dad didn't get to know that, though. "I probably wouldn't have even had cake. Though, I wouldn't have had to put on a dress…"

Liam laughed. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

I made a vague noise of acknowledgement, but my attention was no longer on the conversation. My eyes had drifted back to Bruce because he'd disengaged from the conversation he'd been having and had started to walk across the room towards me. I must have smiled or something because my Dad gave a small chuckle before starting back towards where my mother had last been seen.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. Happy birthday, sweetie."

I frowned at Dad's back, before smiling at Bruce. I knew what he was going to ask before he even opened his mouth. It was almost eleven. "You can take off if you want to." He gave me a genuine smile in return. Realizing our conversation might turn towards sensitive things with what I was about to say, I gestured towards the entrance hall and Bruce and I left the more crowded living room. "I'm not sure I'll be returning to the city tonight," I said quietly once we were far enough away from any sets of ears.

Something passed over Bruce's face. "I assume I'll see you tomorrow night?"

I was able to retain my smile. "Where else would I be?" Bruce kept smiling as well, which only made my grin wider. "Oh, and I know what you can get me for my birthday."

"Oh?"

"I want you to teach me some basic martial arts skills, just so I can protect myself if something like that mugging happens again."

Bruce look like he wanted to protest the request, but he didn't say anything. He just ran the fingers of one hand back through his hair and shook his head a little bit. "I'll think about it."

I blinked. "We're not going to argue about this?"

He gave an enigmatic shrug that could have meant any of a thousand things. "Maybe later."

I realized he was still partially playing the fob, his public mask still in place. Perhaps we really would fight about this later, but I had solid reasoning. It wasn't like I wanted to put on some armour and go out chasing bad guys with Batman. I just wanted to be able to protect myself. I never wanted to feel helpless like I had with that mugger ever again.

"All right. I'll see you tomorrow." I have him another small smile. "Thanks for coming."

Bruce held my gaze for a moment before he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on my cheek, giving my upper arm a squeeze at the same time. It was an expected farewell gesture between friends when one was celebrating a birthday—at least, it was a gesture I'd seen at plenty of social events—but it surprised the hell out of me.

"Happy birthday Ellie."


	14. A New District Attorney

_Nine months since the defeat of Ra's al Ghul.  
Nine months since the first appearance of the Joker._

"Keep your hands up, Ellie."

I obeyed, raising my hands, loose fists hovering in front of my face, moving them just in time to block the series of punches from Bruce. I ducked under the next punch, just like he'd taught me, and, for the first time since he'd begun showing me some basic martial arts skills, managed to land a hit on his ribs. A triumphant bark of laughter escaped my lips and I backed away, doing a little dance as I moved. Bruce, moving with all the speed he was capable of, landed a hit to my stomach. It wasn't very hard, but it was certainly hard enough to knock some of the wind from my lungs.

"You have to focus," my teacher said as I doubled over and gasped down breaths. "If you're not taking this seriously—"

"Sorry, sorry. I've just never landed a hit on you before!" I smiled at Bruce as I straightened, putting as much exuberance into the expression as I could. He spent a lot of his time being tense and angry lately, so I was doing my best to provide moments of levity. It didn't always work, but sometimes, sometimes, I'd get a small smile out of him.

Not this time, though.

I took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, unsurprised at the surly attitude.

Bruce still hadn't been able to locate the Joker, who was still killing or torturing people every time he made an appearance, and the vying for power between the mob families was getting out of hand, though the violence was still mostly contained to the families, and Gordon and Batman had worked some scheme involving irradiated bills to help track down mob money. Not to mention Crane and his toxin manufacturing headquarters remained elusive as well. Batman had been following the Chechen, hoping he'd lead him back to Crane, but it seemed he, along with the rest of the criminals, even petty criminals, in Gotham, were starting to do their nefarious deeds mostly during the day, when Batman wasn't around to interfere. The lack of progress was wearing on Bruce and I was worried what would happen if he didn't find a lead that actually led somewhere soon.

I picked up my water bottle from the closest desk and took a long drink while Bruce stretched out his shoulders and arms. The respite lasted only another second before we were back on the mat Bruce and I had lugged into the bunker, hands raised and bodies in position to continue sparring.

Somewhere in the middle of an ill-timed kick and Bruce once again tossing me to the floor, Alfred appeared in the bunker, approached the edge of the mat and cleared this throat in that authoritative way only he could manage.

Bruce extended his hand down and pulled me easily to my feet when I wrapped my fingers around his wrist. "What is it Alfred?"

"I am sorry to interrupt your… lesson, but I believe the headlines of today's paper will be of interest to you both." He pulled a folded newspaper out from under his arm and handed it to Bruce.

I moved up beside him so I could read it at the same time, wiping my face with a towel retrieved from the desk. Immediately, I wished I hadn't. The headline read "Harvey Dent: Gotham's New District Attorney" and the slightly smaller subtitle added "Will he be able to turn the tide on crime?" A giant colour photo bust of a smiling Harvey followed the headlines and, just beneath the fold, three smaller images, two of which included Rachel Dawes. One of those images was of the couple kissing. I managed to hold back my scowl, but only just, and instead of opening my big mouth, which was likely to start a fight, I started walking around the mat, stretching out my limbs as I did.

"Make sure Mr. Dent is invited to the Wayne Enterprises Charity Gala," Bruce said in a voice devoid of emotion as he tossed the paper on the already cluttered concrete desk.

"I'll see it done, Master Wayne. Will you be heading back to the manor before you adjourn to the rooftops for the evening?"

"No."

Alfred and I shared a look before the butler excused himself and headed to the platform at the other end of the bunker. I watched the platform rise up to where it would form the floor of a shipping container on the surface while Bruce brooded a few feet away. When I couldn't avoid it any longer, I approached Bruce, hitched a hip against the concrete desk and folded my arms across my chest. We remained silent for a while, as we usually did in these potentially volatile situations, because we both knew or tendency towards yelling when we spoke to soon. I opened my mouth to say something, but a smaller headline on the bottom half of the newspaper caught my eye instead, so I straightened it out to read the article marked "Has Batman Graduated to Murder?"

"What is it?" Bruce asked, picking up the shift in my attention.

"Apparently you've started using a shotgun," I answered, turning the paper towards him.

A whole new expression took over Bruce's face as he read the account of the Caped Crusader firing on a would-be rapist, and it was a familiar one: contained rage. That expression had scared me the first few times I'd seen it, but it was never directed at me, so I didn't let it bother me anymore. Though I feared the day that expression was directed at me.

The man the imposter Batman had shot had survived, but only just, and only because the witness to the event had happened to be an EMT and he'd called for an ambulance and the police as soon as he'd slowed the bleeding. The article included the EMT's opinion about Batman, how he was a thug and a menace, and I had the feeling, after this article, he wouldn't be the only one who thought so.

"This is only a few blocks away from here," Bruce said.

"What do we do about this?" I asked cautiously. I pushed some of my sweat-damp hair back from my face.

Bruce sighed heavily, pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. "While I'm on patrol, go through the 911 calls from the last two weeks, and keep an ear on dispatch. See if you can find any more reports on this imposter and if he shows up, let me know where he is."

I nodded. "Will do."

There must have been something in my voice, because Bruce looked up at me, his eyes narrowed slightly. "What?"

I gave a small sigh, thought about not saying the thoughts that had come to mind upon reading of Harvey Dent's victory, and knew that I wouldn't get away with it. "You wanted Harvey to win, right? You said he'd be good for Gotham." I saw the muscle in Bruce's jaw bunch and wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

"If he and the mayor can keep their word, then yes, he'll be good for Gotham."

The tone of Bruce's voice told me to follow the conversation any farther could be dangerous, but I couldn't let it go. Months ago, Bruce and Rachel had spoken of a time when Gotham no longer needed Batman. "And if they do keep their promises, if they start winning this war on crime—what will happen to you, to Batman?"

"If Gotham no longer needs Batman, then I can help the city as Bruce Wayne."

"With Rachel."

"Ellie—"

I raised my hands, cutting him off. Bruce was angry and there was no sense pushing farther, as much as I wanted to. With the exception of the night I'd told Bruce of my feelings for him, we'd never spoken of his feelings for Rachel, for their plans to be together, and I didn't want to start now. I didn't want to even think about the two of them ending up together, so I walked back over to the mat, bouncing a bit on the balls of my feet when I hit the softer surface of the mat. Bruce joined me a minute later, I presume after taking that time to centre himself. I raised my hands, fell into my fighting stance and prepared myself.

-

_"Have you found anything yet?"_

I shook my head before I realized Batman couldn't see it. "Nothing really. There was one call last week, but the guy who made the call sounds like he was high on something and the police didn't take it seriously. He reported seeing a 'big fucking black demon waving a big fucking gun' but he couldn't tell the dispatcher anything else because he ran away—afraid for his own drug-buying ass, probably. It happened two blocks away from the shooting in the paper today though. I'm thinking the imposter might live nearby."

_"No reports of sightings tonight?"_

"Dispatch has been pretty quiet. Just the usual robberies and muggings and drunk and/or high idiots thinking prank-calling 911 is a good idea. Someone did call to tell the police that Batman was a menace and the police should do 'a better job at taking whack jobs like him out.'"

_"Well that's not unexpected."_

"There was also a call from Uptown about the imposter, so we may have more than one on our hands."

_"Keep listening, see if you can narrow down an area for Uptown as well."_

"Maybe the imposters know each other. I'll see if I can find footage from any traffic or security cameras, maybe start trying to ID one of the imposters. Hopefully from there we can find known associates and narrow down possibilities for the other imposters."

_"Let me know if you find anything."_

I smiled to myself and started to reply, but I got cut off by the loud, panicked voice of the dispatcher. It only took me a heartbeat to figure out this was something important, and I flicked the switch so Batman could hear the words as well. It meant I couldn't speak to him at the same time, but that was okay.

_"All units, all units, we have a confirmed sighting of the Joker—Downtown branch of First Gotham Bank, located on 23rd Street between Westlake Boulevard and Kane Avenue. Joker is armed and extremely dangerous; approach with caution. All available units respond."_

I flipped the switch back so I could talk to Batman. I could hear the roar of the Tumbler's engines and knew Batman was already on the way to the bank. Without being asked, I brought up the satellite map of Gotham to check the traffic between Batman's current location and the bank Downtown. Since he was already on the proper island, it wasn't too bad. He didn't have to cross any of the bridges, which were always packed, regardless of what time of day it was.

"The police are shutting down the streets around the bank. Get onto Westlake as soon as possible and you'll be able to get to the bank faster, hopefully before Joker leaves." I turned on the television to the left of the main computer and switched the channel to Gotham Cable News, hoping for another view of the scene at the bank, but there was none. The only feed was coming from a helicopter flying over the street and all that could be seen was a fleet of cop cars growing larger as more and more arrived. "There are cops coming from every direction."

Batman didn't reply, but I didn't really expect him to. I kept my eyes on the TV and my ears on the 911 calls.

_"911, what's your emergency?"_

_"Yeah—yeah, I just saw Batman! He had this big-ass gun and was getting out of some car!"_

_"What is your location sir?"_

_"I'm on the corner of Bleaker and Madison! Get some cops over here now and catch the bastard before he shoots someone else!"_

I sat up straighter, my attention dragged around from the robbery-in-progress by the street names. It was within three blocks of the previous two imposter sightings. I almost thought about routing the recording of the call—the computer recorded everything—to Batman, but he wouldn't abandon a chance at catching the Joker, nor should he. But… the imposter was shooting people, turning the public against Batman, against a reputation Bruce had spent a year cultivating. Bruce had told me to tell him if the imposter showed up, but he wasn't going to stop his current chase, not with the Joker so close.

I was on my feet before I'd really thought about it.

What was I doing?

Clearly nothing smart.

Bleaker and Madison were close to the shipping yard, like really close. I pulled the headset off, grabbed my cell phone and shoved it in my coat pocket. I left the bunker via the moving platform and took off at a jog, aimed towards the shore, pulling on a pair of gloves as I moved; it didn't snow a whole lot in Gotham, but it sure as hell did get cold. I could get to the corner quickly, but the imposter Batman could get away just as quickly. I only hoped he was coming towards me and not running deeper into the city. This section of Gotham was filled with narrow, twisting alleys that even Batman had trouble navigating sometimes.

Somewhere between the bunker and the corner, I remembered that the imposter had a gun, that he could shoot me, kill me.

My throat went dry and a panicky feeling I was growing more and more familiar with filled my chest.

I slowed to a walk, but I didn't stop.

_Get back to the bunker now. Tell Bruce that the imposters are close, that they keep coming back here. Don't do this._

Just as I was about to do the smart thing and turn back, I saw the shadow moving towards me, the familiar silhouette of pointed ears splashed against the brick wall of a building across the street.

I darted around a corner, hiding from his sight in a shallow alleyway. I could hear him moving towards me. What was I going to do? Why hadn't I thought of a plan? Why hadn't I thought this through at all? What the hell was I doing? I searched the alley around me for something I could use to surprise him, to knock him a little senseless. I wasn't confident enough in my strength, or my abilities, to knock the man unconscious. There was a hunk of wood that looked like it had been a piece of a shipping flat at some point propped against the wall. I grabbed it, hefted it experimentally, and decided it would have to do.

The footfalls of the imposter were closer.

I took a deep breath and stepped out into the sidewalk.

The imposter's eyes went wide behind his cheap cowl, his shotgun hung limp from his hand—I saw this all in slow motion, like I had all the time in the world to observe the fake Batman before the piece of wood connected with the side of his head.

I watched him crumple to the ground.

Huh, maybe I could knock him unconscious.

I tossed the wood back into the alley and grabbed the shotgun from where it had fallen on the sidewalk. I'd never shot a shotgun before, and I didn't know how to crack it open to take the shells out. I didn't think it would be that difficult, but I didn't want to accidentally shoot myself or the imposter, so I held it in one hand while I crouched down beside him. I maneuvered the cowl off the man's head with my other hand and dropped it on the ground beside him. Face exposed, I fished my cell out of my pocket and brought up the camera app to snap a quick picture of the man's face. Maybe I could still try and figure out who the other imposter was. If there was only two.

"Smile," I breathed as the shutter noise sounded from my phone.

My goal accomplished, I called the police and told them there was an unconscious man on Madison who they might be interested in for the shooting from the night before. I was already hearing sirens approaching, but better safe than sorry. I placed the gun back on the ground, suddenly glad it was February and I'd had to wear gloves—didn't want to leave any fingerprints on the weapon.

As I walked back to the bunker, that hysterical laughter I'd first experienced when Wayne Manor burned down came back.

-

"What the hell were you thinking Eleanor?"

"I was thinking that I might be able to help you beyond sitting here in front of a computer! You know, it does get boring be on this end of things all the time. I thought I could do some actual good."

Bruce and I were standing beside the Tumbler. He was still in his armour, minus the cowl and gloves; he hadn't even had time to change before we'd started. I was back in bare feet and a full six or seven inches shorter than Bruce because of it. It had been a while since we'd yelled at each other like this. I should have thought of a different way to tell him of my brief stint of vigilantism. I'd thought he would be glad of the information I'd gathered, but he'd just gotten mad.

"I told you tell me if the imposters showed up again!" His voice was hovering somewhere between Bruce and Batman.

I had to admit I was little afraid of the deep growl right now, when it was aimed at me. I held my ground, bared my teeth. "You were going after the Joker, Bruce! You know as well as I do that you wouldn't have abandoned that chance for anything! It wouldn't have made any difference if I'd told you about the call!" I took a step closer and jammed my finger against the bat symbol on his chest. "You wanted the imposter and I got him," I snarled. "I'm fine, the imposter was arrested and there is a picture of his face running through every database I could think of right now. What more do you want? Would you rather I dragged him back here so you could interrogate him yourself?"

Bruce stared down at me, his eyes hard and his lips a thin line. I didn't back away. I stared right back at him, doing my best to hold my ground and it wasn't easy since I had to look up at him.

"You could have been killed," Bruce said, his voice quiet and tightly controlled.

I narrowed my eyes more, trying to figure out what emotion was driving that statement. Was he mad that I disobeyed his orders? Or was he genuinely distressed that I had put myself in the line of fire like that? When I hadn't been on the other end of the headset, had he been worried about me? I almost went with a neutral reply, something that wouldn't make this anymore uncomfortable, but those weren't the words that came out of my mouth.

"Would you miss me?"

He didn't look away, didn't falter. He did think about his answer, so when he spoke, I knew he meant it.

"Yes, I would miss you."

I hadn't expected him to answer. I'd expected some sort of deflection, maybe some more yelling. I hadn't expected a calm reply, and I really hadn't expected a yes. My cheeks flushed and I wanted to look away to hide it, like I would have done when all this had begun. But I didn't. I held his gaze, let the smile play across my face, let him see what those words meant to me. Many responses came to mind, but I didn't think any of them would go over well. I'd realized that Bruce didn't respond well to the emotional displays, so I was trying to keep them to a minimum. I also could have gone with a snarky response, about how he now knew how it felt to know something was up but unable to do anything about it. I'd gone through it with him several times and I would have been lying if I said I didn't enjoy the role reversal a little bit.

"I'm sorry," was all I managed to get out.

"Ellie—"

A shrill beeping from one of the auxiliary bank of computers broke the mood of the moment: the system had matched the imposter's face. Time to get back to business apparently. "Do you want to see the results of my misguided adventure?" I asked, managing a slight smirk.

"Let me change first."

I nodded and watched Bruce walk across the bunker, a small smile on my face.

I watched him for a moment before I approached the work bench designated for forensic research. "So, I may regret asking this," I said as I sat down at the computer and started scrolling through the matches for the picture I'd snapped. "But what happened with the Joker?"

Bruce emerged from behind the Batsuit's hanger after returning the black armour to its place. He was now wearing a pair of jeans and, well, he was holding his t-shirt, but he hadn't put it on yet. "I couldn't get too close with the police presence, but it was one of the banks Gordon and MCU had identified as mob bank," he said as he walked across the bunker. "The alarm notified the mob before the police, so the Joker was already gone. Blew a hole in the back of the bank and escaped in a waiting truck." He pulled his shirt on as he came to a stop beside me. I was a little disappointed. "There was another shot of his face on the security camera, but no other evidence."

I sighed. The longer Bruce spoke, the more tense he got. I could see it in the set of his shoulders, in his jaw, and I was the one who had brought it up. I wanted to backpedal to the moment we'd shared, but I didn't know how. "Is the CSU still on the scene?"

Bruce nodded and dropped into the chair beside me. "So, who is our imposter?"

That was a definitive change of subject, so I went with it. "Well, the computer kicked back a few matches, so it might take a while to nail one down, but I'm not going anywhere until I finish this. Since, you know, I started it."

"How many matches are there?"

"Thirteen, but you don't have to worry about these. I'll call you if I come up with anything, but you've got to be at the first meeting with LSI Holdings tomorrow, and you have to be alert. I can nap at my desk or something." I looked down at my phone where I'd placed it on the desk, tapped the screen with my thumb. "And it's already two. Meeting's at seven, because Mr. Lau is apparently a sadist." Bruce made a noise that might have been a laugh. "So go. I'll be fine down here."

Bruce pushed himself back onto his feet. "How did you knock the guy unconscious?"

"I hit him with a piece of wood I found in the alley. I told you I didn't think it through very well."

He placed a hand on my shoulder and that tingling feeling, that electricity, spread out from the place of contact. I closed my eyes because I knew Bruce couldn't see my face. He squeezed my shoulder, his thumb brushing the side of my neck. "Don't do it again," he said quietly.

I reached up and put my hand over his. "I'll try."


	15. The Birth of Bat Central

_One year since the defeat of Ra's al Ghul.  
One year since the first appearance of the Joker._

"Remind me again why you needed new computers. I understood the first new batch as an update and to replace the beaten up pieces from the cave, but that was only six months ago." The platform clicked into place in the massive bunker and I followed Bruce across the space to where a pile of boxes sat, just waiting for our attention.

"I needed more monitors for the surveillance system and I got a deal for buying in bulk."

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. "Sure."

In the last few months, Bruce had finally got the bunker set up exactly the way he wanted it, though he kept tweaking little things—I think he liked to have something small to think about, to work on while he thought things through. It held as many workstations as the original Batcave and more, plus ample space for the Tumbler and whatever other vehicles he wanted to bring down there. The mat we'd brought down for my martial arts training was still there, and we'd hung a punching bag as well, just so I would have something to do while I was keeping an ear on patrols and the police band. In addition to the armchair I'd dragged down forever ago, I'd brought down a pillow and a couple blankets and made myself a fairly comfortable little nest in front of the main bank of computers. It was a much fuller space than it had been when we'd moved the Batman operation into the bunker months ago. It actually felt like a base of operations now, rather than just a temporary hideout.

Also in the last few months, things between Bruce and me… well, they were easier. I didn't know what that meant, but it was a step forward. I no longer felt like and intruder, though there were still awkward moments. I had a place with Bruce, with Batman, and that place wasn't in jeopardy. At least, not right now. I still felt that bizarre charge whenever Bruce touched me, but that was something I could hide from him, unlike the blush that still took over my cheeks sometimes. I had realized some time ago—about the time I'd thought he'd blown up—that my feelings towards Bruce had grown. I was in love with him. But I could hide that too. If he ever found out, if I ever told him, I might find my position a little harder to keep.

That was a problem for a hypothetical future though, and not something to worry about now.

"I take it these monitors are going on that frame you put together yesterday?" I asked as I grabbed an Exacto knife from the desk and started cutting open the thin boxes containing the flat-screen monitors. Whoever Bruce had ordered the machines from had packed all the monitors in individual boxes and then put all those boxes in a ridiculously large box. Apparently that was easier to ship.

He nodded. "You can attach them to the frame while I hold them in place."

"Sounds good."

Bruce lifted the first monitor up to the top of the latticework of metal that didn't look strong enough to hold the computers and nodded towards the screwdriver on the desktop. I picked it up and started fastening the monitor into place. Bruce had ordered the monitors with the mounts already attached, so it was easier than I'd anticipated. However, I apparently didn't move fast enough for Bruce, who, after the third monitor, informed me that we were switching positions.

I was doing my best to hold the last monitor in place—my arms where shaking after repeating the process several times—when Alfred joined us in the bunker, his arm through the handle one of those coolers people took on picnics. Since I was facing the bunker entrance, I smiled.

"You didn't have to bring food down Alfred," I said once Bruce had finished and I was able to step away, shaking my arms out as I moved. "We were going to head back to the penthouse when we'd finished."

Alfred gave me a look full of disbelief. "Ms. Black, I believe I am familiar enough with your habits and those of Master Wayne to know that neither of you will surface until it is absolutely necessary." He placed the cooler on an empty corner of the main desk. "And food does not fall into that category."

I laughed, because he was right. It had happened more than once where I didn't realize I was starving until Bruce had gone out on patrol and I had time to think about something other than preparing for said patrol. Behind me, I heard Bruce chuckle as well. "Bruce will have to speak for himself on that account, but I'd surface for food eventually." I joined Alfred at the desk and pushed some of my red-brown hair back from my forehead. My eyes lit up as the butler withdrew a chicken sandwich and handed it to me. "Especially if it's your cooking." I took a big bite of the sandwich, and it may have been simple fare, but it still tasted delicious.

"Thank you, Ms. Black."

"Eleanor," I mumbled with my mouth full. I tried to smile, but it probably looked sort of garish.

Alfred looked over my shoulder at Bruce and, finding him sufficiently occupied with eating and making sure the framework would hold the monitors, turned back to me with a smile. "I must thank you Ms. Black, and it is too long in coming."

"For what?"

His smile became a fraction more… well, devious, though that was a word I never thought I'd apply to Alfred. "For becoming part of the darker side of Master Bruce's life."

"I'm not sure he'd agree that that's a good thing."

"Maybe not, but I believe your presence here has eased some of the burden he has taken on, even if he does not realize it." He gave me another smile, this one his normal warm and comforting expression. "Not to mention that your presence has also allowed me to spend less time underground."

I chuckled. "Well Alfred, I appreciate your thanks, but it's not necessary."

"You may feel that way because of the motivations that led you here," he said with a weight behind his words, a weight that told me he at least had heavy suspicions about my feelings towards his charge. "However I feel it was necessary for you to hear it."

I smiled up at Alfred and then, after setting the rest of my sandwich down, I gave him a hug. "Well," I said when I returned to my sandwich, "thank you, Alfred. When he's not getting himself blown up, I actually enjoy being here in Bat Central."

"Bat Central, Ms. Black?"

"Well yeah, since it's roughly in the middle of the city and it's finally done, I feel it needed a name."

"Very good."

-

After we'd eaten and Alfred had made sure there was plenty of coffee for the night, Bruce and I returned to working on setting up the new computers. Well, he was doing all the actual setting up, since I know next to nothing about computer hardware, and I was sitting in front of the desk, letting him know what something turned on or blinked or did whatever he was looking for it to do.

"Any noise from the Joker since the last time?" I asked tentatively.

"No. He's been quiet since then."

"That was three months ago. What the hell is his planning?"

Bruce was silent for a little while as he tinkered with something I couldn't see at the back of the desk. When he stood up, he gave a small sigh. "I don't know. I can't figure him out." That muscle in his jaw was twitching again.

"You will," I said. It was lame, but it was all I had since I had no insight into the Joker that I hadn't already shared with Bruce.

Bruce started pacing, as he sometimes did when he thought out loud. I watched him move, his arms crossed over his chest. "He's unpredictable and seems to feed on the chaos he creates. Every time he makes an appearance, the severity of the crime escalates. He's going to keep killing people until I can stop him."

"Gordon doesn't have any leads?"

"No. Nothing. There's nothing on him anywhere." Bruce ran a hand back through his hair, his eyes distant and dark with the weight of all the Joker's murders and the daunting task of catching him. "It's like he didn't exist before he showed up a year ago."

I sighed and didn't know what else to say that didn't fall into the vein of lame encouragement. So, instead, I hopped off the stool in front of the newly assembled computers and moved over the mat. I was already dressed in clothes appropriate for sparring—they just happened to be the clothes that were most comfortable for sitting the bunker as well—so I gestured for Bruce to join me. He looked like he was going to protest, but eventually he joined me. He seemed to think things through better when he was moving, and we'd gotten into a routine where we sparred before he went out on patrol as a sort of warm-up.

As we moved around the mat that night though, something was different. Bruce's movements became stronger, harder. Painful. He sparred with me at about half-strength normally, to avoid any serious injury, and because I was nowhere near as advanced with hand-to-hand combat as he was. It was probably his anger and frustration over the Joker and that he was focusing on that rather than the sparring match, but every hit I blocked got more difficult and every hit I took hurt more. Bruce started moving faster, using his elbows and knees in a style he hadn't taught me much of. I stopped trying to land hits and just focused on blocking, on dodging and trying to find time to retreat.

I was scared.

"Bruce!" I yelled as his fist connected exceptionally hard with my ribs, but he didn't hear me.

I kept yelling his name whenever I had a spare breath, but he was totally gone from the moment. He was somewhere else, thinking about stopping the Joker. He wasn't seeing me.

Not until I missed a punch aimed at my face and the heavy hit connected with my cheek, splitting the skin and no doubt setting the foundation for a wonderful black eye. I cried out in shock and pain and dropped to my butt, out of the way of his fists, my hands hovering over my injured face and my now bleeding nose. I was cowering. Bruce knelt in front of me, his eyes wide. I could just see his face between my fingers. He tentatively reached out to touch my face, to examine the injury, and I think I might have flinched because he pulled his hands away.

"I'm sorry Ellie," he said quietly. "I don't know what—I'm sorry."

I took a few deep breaths. I couldn't stop the tears from leaking out my eyes and the injured one was starting to swell, which was just great. My side was throbbing as well. "It's okay," I said eventually. "It probably wasn't the best idea to spar. I could tell you were angry."

"That doesn't mean I should have lost control. The Joker just—"

"Bruce, it's okay. Help me up." He wrapped his hands around my forearms and lifted me easily. "Just don't hit me like that again." I tried to smile, but it faltered. "It really fucking hurts."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Bruce asked, leading me back to one of the work stations, where I'd be able to sit down and he could look at my face.

"My ribs, but they're just bruised."

I watched Bruce as he retrieved the first aid supplies he'd need to patch up my face. He kept looking back at me, whatever he was feeling carefully hidden. I wanted to tell him that I was going to be okay, but at the moment, I didn't exactly feel like I would be. So, I just listened when he told me to climb onto the concrete surface, and let him help me. I crossed my legs underneath me and turned my face towards Bruce's waiting hands. Whatever he was using to clean the wound stung like a bitch, but I clamped my teeth together so I wouldn't cry out. I didn't want Bruce to feel any worse.

"You've stopped bleeding," he said quietly.

"Will I need stitches?"

Bruce was silent as he examined the wound. "You don't need them. A bandage should suffice. The cut isn't that deep." The slight pressure of his hands hurt, but I didn't say anything about it. Bruce noticed anyway. "Should I call Alfred?" he asked, his fingers brushing my cheek as he pulled his hands away.

"No, don't wake him." It was getting hard to see out of my swelling eye.

Bruce completed the first aid in silence, making sure his touch was feather-light. As he withdrew his hand, he let his fingers trail along my jaw, leaving goosebumps in the wake of the touch. I was sure if I had been feeling one-hundred percent, that electricity would have been back, those butterflies in my stomach. I reached up and grabbed his hand, holding it against the uninjured part of my cheek.

"You should probably get some rest." Bruce brushed his thumb over my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I will if I start to feel sick or something, but I'm not leaving. You're going after the Chechen and Crane tonight. I want to be here for that."

A small smile flickered across his lips as he withdrew his hand. "Of course you do."

"Besides, I expected to get hurt sooner or later. It's martial arts, Bruce. It's not something you do to avoid getting hurt." I gave his hand a small squeeze and let go. "I'm not that fragile. I can take it."

"I know you can," he said quietly.

It wasn't a triumph though. I hadn't won. I could see it on his face. We weren't going to spar again; he wasn't going to continue teaching me. At least not any time soon. And that wasn't something I could fight.


	16. The Goddamn Imposters

I sat in my chair at the desk and stared at the computer screen as Bruce changed into Batman for the night. My head had started to throb a few minutes after Bruce had finished patching up my face, so I'd taken some Advil from the bottle I kept in my purse, and leaned my head back with my eyes closed. The normally comfortable chair was actually making it worse, but it was better than putting my head on the desk. My eye was swollen almost completely shut and every time I inhaled, my sides gave a dull protest. I was starting to ache all over. Going home to sleep was probably the better course of action, but like I'd told Bruce, I wanted to be here for the apprehension of Crane and the Chechen.

There was part of me that didn't want to leave because it would make me look weak. Or at least, that was how I saw it.

So, I just stayed in that chair with my eyes closed and tried to ignore the fact that I could feel my heartbeat surrounding my eye.

I could hear Bruce moving about the bunker, preparing for the task ahead of him. He not only needed to be prepared for taking down the actual targets of this evening, but also for the chance that the imposters might show up. It seemed they'd been showing up more and more lately; the man I'd bludgeoned on the head had refused to give up the names of the other Batman imposters, so the rest of them were still at large. Bruce wouldn't have been overly concerned about them, except for the shotguns they favoured. Even if they didn't hit what they were aiming at, buckshot or whatever you call it could do a hell of a lot of collateral damage.

The Advil seemingly kicked in all at once, because the pain was suddenly easier to handle. I sat up straight and opened my good eye all the way and my bad one as far as it would go. It was odd, looking at the computer screen like that, but I'd manage.

"Eleanor." I turned and looked at Bruce, excuse me Batman. His dark eyes were watching me from underneath the cowl. "If you're not going to listen to reason and go home, at least put this on your eye."

I caught the towel-wrapped ice pack that Batman tossed toward me and nodded. "Okay."

He turned and headed for the Tumbler and I watched him go. I wanted to say something, even if it was as lame as "be careful," but the words just wouldn't come. I kept flashing on how he'd looked when we were sparring and how he'd looked when he realized what he'd done. The fear I'd felt kept welling up inside. He climbed into the tank-like Batmobile and drove off, up the road revealed behind the wall at the press of a button on the driver's console. The roar of the engines filled the bunker for a minute, the noise deafening and painful. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced my mind somewhere else while it was too loud to think.

The shock of the ice on my eye helped.

I gave a groan of intense discomfort but kept the ice pack in place with one hand. With the other, I somehow managed to maneuver the headset onto my head—why I hadn't done that before would forever be a mystery—and activated the connection. The rumble of the engines filled my head, much less painful than in real life. I didn't say anything because Batman would know I had connected. He didn't say anything, because he never did when he was Batman, not unless he had to.

Without anything to talk about, I brought up the photographs Batman had taken a week or so ago on one of the auxiliary screens. They'd been taken in an old decrepit warehouse in Downtown Gotham, one owned by an associate of the Chechen. There were slats with neatly taped bundles of drugs stacked high, just like you see in TV crime dramas, and stacks of money on a rusted metal table. Some of those bills had been lightly irradiated, part of Batman and Lieutenant Gordon's plan to track the mob money in Gotham. The most interesting photo, the one that had confirmed the suspicion—okay, it was more than a suspicion, but Batman didn't want to believe anything until he had absolute proof—was a shot of a stained and beat-up ledger, full of numbers and dates corresponding with known drug buys, every single one initialed by "JC." Not all the words were clear, but those initials I could make out just fine. I could also make out a note in the margin, a note about the meeting Batman was currently headed towards.

I hoped Batman got him tonight, I really did. Crane's—or, I guess Scarecrow's—fear toxin was scary enough without even having inhaled any of it. The skinny man terrified me almost as much as the Joker did.

The roar of the Tumbler's engines continued on, Bruce headed for a forgotten corner of the city where the meeting was taking place. Batman was his usual quiet self and I still couldn't find any words. This was awkward. We hadn't had this much trouble—or, I hadn't anyway—talking to one another since his return to Gotham.

I switched the feed so we would both be listening to the police scanner. It was marginally less awkward. I'd turn it back when the GPS tracker in the Batmobile let me know he'd stopped. Until that time came however, I was going to try and finish the shipping reports I was supposed to have finished for Lucius the next day. I doubted I was going to get them done, especially with the purple blob that was my left eye, but I could at least try. Lucius had been very understanding so far about slightly late reports because he knew what I did at night, but I didn't want to push that understanding any farther.

"Ms. Black, I do think it would be a good idea to keep ice on your eye."

I think I jumped about five feet in the air. "Alfred!"

"Master Bruce called me from the car and asked me to check on you. He wanted me to see if you would reconsider going home. I thought his request was a little odd, considering your usual temperament about leaving the cave, but I see now what had him so concerned." The butler, who was somehow dressed at his normal caliber even though it was reaching the ungodly hours, sat on the stool beside my chair and peered at my injury. He picked up the ice pack that I had, at some point, discarded on the concrete desk, and pressed it to my eye, my hand automatically coming up to hold it there. "What, if I may ask, happened?" There was an edge to Alfred's voice, one I had never heard there before.

"Bruce didn't tell you?" I asked, turning my head so I could look at him with my good eye.

"He did not."

"I had asked him about the Joker and he got all tense and angry and then I thought it would be a good idea to spar so he could work through the thoughts and get warmed up for patrol tonight, but he just got angrier the longer we fought and I couldn't keep blocking his hits. I don't have much endurance since I'm relatively new to the martial arts thing." I gave Alfred a small smile, but his lips were still pursed. "I'm sorry he woke you. I'll be all right."

"Don't give it a second thought. Master Bruce did an adequate job of patching up your cheek, but keep the ice against it for as long as you can. It will reduce the swelling. You should be able to see properly in the morning, though I do not envy you the task of having to explain such a mark to Mr. Fox or your coworkers."

I shrugged with one shoulder. "I'll just tell them it happened at my karate class. It's the truth, aside from it not being an actual class."

Alfred opened his mouth to reply, but his eyes darted to the computer screen and he abandoned whatever he was going to say. I followed his gaze and found that the Batmobile had stopped moving, and there was no separate indicator for Batman. He was still in the car. I leaned forward and flicked the switch on the headset, unplugging the earphones as I did so that Alfred could hear as well. I only used the headphones all the time because having the sounds pumped directly into my head blocked off any outside noise and made it easier to concentrate.

"Thanks for calling Alfred," I said, making sure he heard the sarcasm in my voice. "What's the game plan?"

_"I'm on the roof next to the meeting place. The Chechen and his men are here, and there's a white van driving up. Probably Crane." His voice was intense, focused. "I'll wait to confirm that it's him, then I'll make my move."_

"Any sign of the imposters?"

_"Not yet."_

"Let's hope it stays that way." I tried to type the sequence that would bring up the feed from the cameras on the Tumbler, but it proved impossible with one hand occupied. "Alfred, can we tape this to my face or something? I need both my hands."

"Putting it down for a moment to type a sequence into the computer will not make a difference, as long as you put the ice back on your eye as soon as it is convenient."

"I'm going to be typing a lot. Taping it to my face would be easier."

_"It's Crane,"_ Batman growled through the speaker, startling me. _"And the imposters just showed up."_

"Shit." I dropped the ice pack on the desk and brought up the camera feed. "What are you doing?" I asked, realizing the Tumbler was headed for the wall of the parking garage. I could see people running around on the other side of that half-wall.

_"Making an entrance."_

The Tumbler slammed through the concrete, sending rubble flying and eliciting screams from those nearby. I heard a shriek of laughter that could only have come from Crane. A persistent beeping appeared to one side, forcing me to tear my attention away from the screen. It was the alarm Batman had attached to the bat-signal on top of Major Crimes, an alarm that went off every time Gordon turned the spotlight on. I turned it off and turned back to the camera feed. I couldn't see anything really, except the occasional dark shape running past, but I could hear the noises of fighting and gunshots.

Those Goddamned imposters.

"Gordon's turned the bat-signal on," I said, knowing Batman would hear it in the middle of the fight. "Probably about that bank robbery from this afternoon. It seems they were only able to get the crime scene units out there now."

We'd heard about the robbery on the news, but since it had happened during the day and the call to the police hadn't gone through until it was over, there wasn't much to be done. Gordon would preserve the scene best her could if there was something of interest for Batman. Apparently there was. Maybe it was the Joker. I opened the program that would connect Bat Central to the police department's records. It only took me a few minutes to locate everything that had been logged on the bank robbery, since it was pretty much the most recent file, and all the hacking was taken care of. All I had to do was find the thing.

I think Batman may have tried to reply to my news, but his words were cut off by a vicious snarling and snapping that could only have come from the Chechen's dogs. There was a strangled cry of surprise and maybe pain from Batman.

I stopped what I was doing and listened.

There were more gunshots, some screaming, the squeal of tires. I could hear the whine of the hydraulic device Batman had taken with him, the screech of metal being torn.

"Batman, what's happening?" I asked. There were more gunshots and barking dogs I was beginning to worry. I hated hearing gunshots over the headset and not being able to see what happened.

He didn't give me an answer, but that wasn't abnormal.

Alfred lifted the ice pack back towards my eye and I took it without thinking, pressing it to my skin. It didn't even really register that it was cold. The butler's hand dropped to my shoulder, gave it a small squeeze.

There was a loud crunch, Batman grunted. _"You're finished Crane," _he growled. The sound of a fist hitting flesh was distinctive. _"I'm fine. What have you got on the bank robbery? I'll head over after I finish up here."___

__I gave my head a small shake, drawing myself out of that panicked state—or trying to, anyway—and turned my eyes back to the file on the computer screen. If I hadn't been able to feel Alfred's eyes watching my hand hold the ice pack to my face, I would have dropped it on the desk again, but I settled for scrolling through the information one-handed._ _

__"Confirmed report of the Joker," I read. "They've got his face on a security camera again. No other evidence, though. He escaped with all the money in the vault, except for the irradiated bills, so it was a mob bank, but the trail ends there. Four dead bodies wearing clown masks, all identified as low-level enforcers from various mob families. The bank manager and everyone who was in the bank at the time were poisoned with some sort of gas that they haven't identified yet, but it was released from a canister shoved in the bank manger's mouth. They were all dead upon arrival." I took several long, deep breaths when I'd finished, banishing the last of the panic. "Did you get them all?"_ _

___"Crane, all the imposters that showed up here, and the Chechen's men that didn't get away with him. The police are on the way."_ _ _

__"At least Crane is off the streets. He's the only one who can make the toxin. I'll see you after you check out the bank. Holler if you need anything." I left the channel open so I could actually hear if he said something and turned to Alfred. "You can go back to the penthouse Alfred. I'll keep the ice on my eye, I swear."_ _

__"Should you not be on your way home as well Ms. Black?"_ _

__I gave Alfred a small smile. "I just want to finish up something for Lucius and then I'll be on my way. I promise that as well. You know, I wouldn't think you were any less proper if you called me Eleanor."_ _

__Alfred just smiled at me. "I believe sleep would do you a world of good, much more than waiting here for Master Bruce to return."_ _

__There was no use denying it, especially to Alfred, who was more perceptive to my feelings about Bruce than Bruce was, than I was. "I just want to make sure he's really okay, Alfred."_ _

__"That may be true, but you also want him to notice that you are here."_ _

__I narrowed my eyes at him, but I couldn't deny that either. Knowing the glare wouldn't accomplish anything, I sighed and pushed the loose strands of my reddish hair out of my face. I might as well tell someone. "I told him I have feelings for him, and we've barely talked about it. Alfred… I'm in love with him, and I don't know what to do other than be here, other than make him see me." I sighed. "But it's hard to stay here, to listen to the gunshots and the dogs and the fighting. It's hard to listen to all of that and believe he's going to be okay when he climbs out of that car. I have to stay to make sure he's okay."_ _

__Alfred's smile had turned sympathetic. Of course it had. He felt the same things for Bruce, for the man who might as well have been his son. "I know. Just remember to take care of yourself while you are watching over Master Bruce, Eleanor," he said as he got to his feet. "You will be of no use to anyone if you run yourself ragged."_ _

__I watched the older man head for the exit. I wanted to say that I would take care of myself, that I wouldn't let myself burn out, but for some reason, the words were lost between my brain and my mouth and my eye had started to throb again._ _


	17. New Toys

Perhaps I should have listened to Alfred and gone home to get a good rest.

I feel asleep sitting at the desk, my good cheek pressed to the desk and the ice pack taped to my face; it had felt good to have the cold present, but I'd needed to work on the reports for Lucius, not to mention keep track of what was going on with Batman, so I'd caved to my bizarre impulse and freed up my hands. My body was folded rather awkwardly in the chair and when I awoke, it took me a little while to work the stiffness out of my joints. I was pretty sure falling asleep in twisted positions at a desk was going to be the death of me, or at least of my spine. I also removed the now-warm ice pack and dropped it on the desk. When ice packs were warm and gooey, they really weren't as helpful. Or comfortable.

I was pleased to find that I could open my bruised eye almost all the way, though I knew it was still going to be purple and blue and ghastly. I took a minute to blink and look around experimentally. The pain was almost gone. It probably wouldn't last. Gingerly, I rubbed at my face to help wake up.

A groan caught my attention.

"What time is it?" I asked, finding Bruce sitting at one of the other workstations, in front of the array of monitors; for some reason the monitors were off. They were rarely off. It must have been him sitting down that had awoken me—the stool he was sitting on squeaked something awful when it was moved even a tiny bit. I twisted from side to side gingerly before walking over to Bruce, testing the pain in my ribs. Thankfully, it was minimal. I adjusted my clothes as I moved, wondering how they'd become so twisted when I'd hardly moved.

"It's just about six-thirty," he answered through clenched teeth.

I narrowed my eyes as I approached and saw that he was attempting to stitch closed a deep wound on his arm. I remembered hearing something that might have been pain over the headset—this must have been the cause. "What happened?" I asked as I dropped onto the stool beside him and forced his fingers to let go of the needle.

He raised an eyebrow at me, but relinquished the tool. "What do you know about stitching wounds?"

I resisted the urge to slap him and settled for a glare instead. Maybe I was a little cranky. "Doctor parents remember? Also, Alfred's been teaching me basic stitching technique for moments just like this, when he isn't around. He says you make a mess whenever you try and stitch yourself and that you don't need any more nasty scars." I inwardly winced as I pushed the needle through his skin, but I managed to keep anything from showing on my face. "So what happened?"

"The Chechen's dogs," he answered after a minute.

"A dog?"

"A big dog," he amended, picking up on my sarcasm. His voice wasn't free of sarcasm.

"Oh, all right then." I felt his eyes on me and looked up to find him giving me a slight glare. My best response was a smile. "Did you learn anything at the bank?" I asked, returning my attention to closing the wound on Bruce's arm.

"Nothing useful, except the Joker knew there were irradiated bills in the vault."

"So he knows the police are tracking the deposits of Maroni and the others. Presumably they know as well now too?"

"Most likely."

I gave a small huff as I tied the thread and snipped away the excess. "Let's just hope the Joker doesn't have any big dogs."

"What is this about big dogs?"

Bruce and I turned to look at Alfred as he strode across the concrete floor. The butler had a large thermos in the crook of one arm, and a thick pile of paper in his hand. He handed me the thermos and the papers to Bruce, casting a look around at the bunker, the corners of his mouth pulling down almost imperceptibly. Alfred always disapproved of me falling asleep in the bunker, and from the look on his face, I got the feeling that I wasn't the only one who hadn't made it home. I gave a second look to the t-shirt and pants Bruce was wearing and they were, unsurprisingly, the same as yesterday. As long as we had time to clean up and change before heading into Wayne Enterprises, we'd be fine. The first meeting about the possible deal between LSI Holdings and Wayne Enterprises was this morning and we both had to be there.

"The Chechen had dogs. They were big apparently," I said as I snagged the newspaper from Bruce and started flipping through the headlines, looking for anything relating to Batman or Bruce; it was a habit of mine. I could feel Bruce's slight glare and a grin spread across my lips as a result. It hurt a bit where the skin tugged across my cheek, but the minor pain was worth it for the expression. I was rather smiley this morning.

Alfred made some noise of agreement as he put his glasses on and examined the line of stitches on Bruce's arm. "The stitches are quite well done Ms. Black. You say a dog did this Master Bruce?"

Bruce nodded.

"I would have assumed something larger, like a tiger."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "I need a new suit. The current one is too heavy—I'm carrying too much weight and I can't move fast enough."

"I am sure Mr. Fox will be able to help you with that."

The nod Bruce gave Alfred was slight, like he was distracted by something. For a minute, the three of us sat in silence, Alfred and I watching the man behind Batman. Eventually, he sighed and got to his feet, walking in a small circle until he was facing us again. "There were more copycats last night."

I was momentarily struck by a visceral memory of smacking the Batman imposter over the head with the piece of wood. I shook my head and refocused on Bruce, who was still talking.

"This wasn't what I had in mind when I said I wanted to inspire good," he said to Alfred, sadness in his eyes.

It hurt something inside me to see him look like that, and I didn't want to do what I was about to, but it was the only way I could see to really focus the conversation on the good he had done. I spun around on my stool and hit the button that would simultaneously turn on the array of monitors behind me, displaying the loops of footage of Harvey Dent, the new district attorney, who had done wonders in his short time in office. A couple of the monitors showed Rachel Dawes with Dent. Bruce had been watching the footage again, that's why the monitors were off: so I wouldn't see. It was the only consideration he'd shown towards my feelings.

"You have inspired good," I said, gesturing at the monitors. "Harvey Dent is making headway against the organized crime in Gotham, the streets are finally getting cleaned up, and it's because of you, of what you started. He's the first ray of light this city has had in a long time and he never could have become that if it wasn't for the darkness you fought."

Bruce's eyes were dark as he met my gaze. He didn't look at the monitors behind me, though I knew he wanted to. He took a step towards me and I was the one who broke the eye contact, pushing myself to my feet as I looked away. I didn't want him to look at me in this moment because seeing me wouldn't make him feel better. He wouldn't think he'd done good by me. I'd rearranged my life to help him, and I constantly fought against his desires to keep me at a distance, to keep me safe. I wasn't so sure looking at footage of Rachel with Harvey Dent would make him feel better either, but I didn't know how to turn off that footage and leave the rest playing. I was trying to make a point other than Rachel's social habits and I hoped he could see it. This wasn't me trying to compete with Rachel, and I almost told him so. I just barely managed to keep my mouth shut. I made myself smile when I looked up at him again, made myself give him shoulder a friendly squeeze.

"I'll see you at the office. I have to get some things from my apartment and clean up before work."

-

Several hours later, Bruce and I were standing in the now-empty board room, staring out at the Gotham skyline, lit by the weak morning sunshine. I was leaning against the glass, my arms folded across my chest. Bruce and I hadn't spoken since I'd left the bunker earlier that morning, and frankly, I just didn't know what to say. I could tell by the tension in his shoulders that he was still on edge, and I didn't want to push him over it. We were waiting for Lucius, so Bruce could get the man's opinion on Lau and his company—apparently Bruce had found some issue with the yearly numbers for LSI Holdings—and to talk about a new suit for Batman. There was also something Mr. Fox wanted to talk with me about, which was the only reason I was still in the board room. Normally I left Bruce and Lucius to their talks, as interested as I was in the equipment Batman used.

I really wished I could leave that day as well.

"What can I do for you Mr. Wayne?" Lucius asked as he finally joined us. Apparently it had taken quite a while to see Mr. Lau and his representatives off.

"What do you think?" he asked simply.

"The joint venture was your idea, and everyone loves it, but I'm…" Lucius gave a small shrug. "I'm not convinced. LSI Holdings had grown by eight percent consistently every year, so they must have a stream of income that's off the books, possibly even illegal."

I caught the small smile spreading across Bruce's lips, and so did Lucius. "Okay. Cancel the deal then."

"You knew."

I pushed myself off the glass and wandered a little ways away as Bruce handed Lucius the drawings he'd done for a more functional Batsuit and they discussed how long it would take to get it up and running. When they'd finished and I could feel the two men watching me, I headed back and faced my boss. Well, both my bosses.

"Eleanor, Mr. Reese has informed me that the reports on the company's finances you were supposed to gather for him were incomplete."

"What? No they weren't." My voice may have been a little more snappish that I meant it, but Coleman Reese, the new lawyer, had been a pain since he'd shown up. Maybe some of it was his job, but the man was annoying, and since I was Mr. Fox's assistant, I saw more of him than most of the other employees and definitely more of him than I'd like. "I made sure to give him everything so this wouldn't happen." Something changed in Lucius's face. "He found out about Applied Sciences not being completely dormant, didn't he?" I turned to Bruce. "I swear I did everything I could to keep him from finding out about it."

Mr. Fox's hand on my shoulder brought my attention back around. "It isn't your fault, Eleanor. It turns out Mr. Reese has been spending a lot of time snooping around Archives, even before he requested those files. I've done my best to erase all mention of the department's continuation, but something must have slipped through. Could you go back through the files from the last few years?"

"Of course," I said, exhaling heavily with relief. "I'll start right away."

"Good. Now, can I ask you a more personal question?"

"I suppose." Almost subconsciously, one hand rose towards the bruised side of my face. I thought I'd covered it pretty well, but I wasn't surprised that Lucius had noticed. He didn't miss much.

"What happened?"

"Accident at my martial arts class."

Lucius looked between me and Bruce, nodded once to himself and then turned to leave. The meeting room was long and narrow, so it took a while for him to leave, but the two of us watched him until he was gone. I turned to face Bruce when we were alone again.

"It's not that obvious is it?" I asked.

"No." He gave a small sigh, his head cocked slightly to one side. "I wasn't going to blame you for Reese finding out about Applied Sciences."

My face flushed because that was exactly what I'd been thinking he'd do. "I'll do what I can to keep him from finding anything else out."

We were silent for a few heartbeats.

"How long do you think it will take you to get through the files?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. It depends on how well they're organized, I guess, but it shouldn't be too bad. I should be in the bunker shortly after you leave, if not before." A thought came to me then, something I'd forgotten in the hubbub of the night before. "How late do you think your date with the ballerina will go?" I was proud that I was able to keep my voice neutral. Maybe I was picking up more than I thought from Bruce.

"I should still be heading out on patrol around midnight," he answered. There was something in his voice that told me perhaps my tone hadn't been as neutral as I'd thought. "If you're here late, you—"

"Oh don't even say it. You know perfectly well I'll be there regardless of what time I'm working until."

Bruce pressed his lips together. "I know, but you don't have to be there if you want to go home and actually get some sleep."

I wanted to tell him that I had to be there for all the reasons I told Alfred the night before. I wanted to tell him that he knew why I had to be there, but I didn't. For the second time that day, I kept my mouth shut instead of saying what I felt. We hadn't spoken about my feelings in such a long time, but this wasn't the appropriate time to bring them up again, since I was tired and sore from my terrible sleep in the chair. So, I gave him another smile, though this one was much less sincere, and I left the boardroom, my heels clacking loudly against the tile.

Maybe I should go home after I was finished at the office. Maybe I should get a good night's sleep. Maybe I should call Sarah and see if she had any eligible men to set me up with. Maybe I should forget about trying to make Bruce acknowledge my feelings. Maybe I should start moving on.


	18. Mob Banks and Escape Plans

Sarah had been overjoyed to get my call and insisted I meet her, her current boyfriend, and a guy she thought would be perfect for me as soon as I possibly could for coffee at the little shop she favoured, like as soon as I took my lunch that day. So, when I took my break a couple hours later, that was what I did; I'd never understood Sarah's ability to get people where she wanted when she wanted them there, even if it was the middle of a weekday when most people were at work.

The coffee shop was small, cozy, and smelled like old books, coffee and baked goods. Sarah and I had met there for lunch many times before—they made excellent sandwiches—and it was easy to find her at her favourite table in the corner by the largest window in the place. Sandwiches and beverages had already been ordered, including for me, but Sarah knew what I liked. I hugged my friend and shook the hand of her boyfriend, Aaron, and smiled as I was introduced to Sam, the man who was supposed to be a perfect match for me. He was tall and looked like he spent a good deal of time in a gym. An expensive suit covered that muscle—not quite as expensive as the suits Bruce wore, but then the guy probably wasn't a billionaire—and his dark blond hair was expertly styled. When he smiled at me, his pale blue eyes shared the expression. It was infectious.

"Oh my God Eleanor, what happened to your face?" Sarah asked as the light caught my concealed bruises when we sat down.

I waved it off. "Just an accident in the new karate class I'm taking. It's just a few bruises."

Sam leaned a little closer to take a look, not too close though. "It looks like it's healing well," he said, his tone of voice indicating he was familiar with injury. When I raised my eyebrow, he gave a small smile and informed me that he was a doctor. "A pediatrician, actually."

"Oh, well then." I returned the smile and could practically feel Sarah beaming from across the table.

It turned out Sarah was pretty on the money with Sam. He was pretty perfect for me. He was compassionate and warm and patient. He healed kids for a living for crying out loud. And he was good looking. I agreed to go to dinner with him soon, and he let me pick the date, giving me his cell number to contact him when I'd checked my schedule. He didn't even ask for my number. I'm not ashamed to admit that his behaviour made me a little suspicious, but I'd go to dinner with him at least once and see what came of it. When I returned to Wayne Enterprises after lunch, I sat for a while and stared at his number on my phone, wondering if this really was a good idea or not.

Because I couldn't shake the thought that yes, Sam would be good for me, but he wasn't Bruce and he certainly wasn't Batman.

-

When I finally made it to the bunker that night, Bruce was already gone, and I was actually glad. While I'd been going through the files at Wayne Enterprises, I'd gone back and forth about going out with Sam and proceeded to make myself angry and tense and unhappy. I had not wanted to see Bruce yet, because that would only exacerbate my feelings. But I wasn't alone in the bunker. Alfred was standing in front of the main desk, with what I recognized as police reports on the screens in front of him. He didn't say anything as I dropped my bad in my chair and moved up beside him, but I knew that silence wouldn't last long. I enjoyed it while I could and tried to imagine what Bruce would have told the butler—if anything—about our encounter today or what Alfred had figured out on his own.

"It seems Lieutenant Gordon was able to get a warrant from Mr. Dent for the seizure of the mob banks, including the one the Joker robbed, and they have a better idea of Mr. Lau's connections to the organized crime in Gotham," Alfred informed me without looking away from his work.

I focused on the police reports, thoroughly scanning through for the relevant information. "That was fast," I muttered, my mind immediately going back over the security camera footage from the Joker's robbery. I gave my head a little shake, clearing an image of the clown-faced criminal from my mind's eye. "Good—that's good."

Gordon and his officers wouldn't be acting on the warrant until morning, since the banks were all closed and the employees gone home, so I didn't have to tune into that. I looked at my watch—Batman had only been on patrol for about an hour. I looked to the readouts from the Batmobile and the Batsuit—nothing particular was going on and the switch was turned to the police scanner, fuzzy voices piping from the speaker. For the first time in a long time, I felt like there was nothing for me to do down in the bunker and, though I would never admit it to Bruce or even to Alfred, I actually considered going home to get a full night's rest if I could manage to fall asleep early.

I leaned forward on the desk and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

"Ms. Black."

I turned and leaned back against the desk, crossing my arms over my chest. "What did he tell you?"

"That you seemed quite angry this morning."

I huffed loudly. I wasn't surprised Bruce had said anything, though he probably would never do it under his own volition, but Alfred always asked how or where I was if I didn't arrive in the bunker around the same time as Bruce. He'd told me as much. "I am angry—I'm angry because I'm confused and frustrated and fed up." I didn't look at the butler as I spoke, instead focusing on a grease stain on the concrete floor. "I want to stay and help Batman, I want to stay here with Bruce," I continued after a moment. "But I can't be here and wonder anymore, just stand around and hope he'll finally look at me as more than a friend, more than his assistant or whatever the hell he sees me as." Finally I looked up at Alfred and found those friendly eyes filled with empathy. "I have a date in a couple nights, Alfred, that's how fed up I am." After much deliberation both mentally and out loud, I texted Sam that afternoon—it seemed so much less personal than a phone call and I was still so unsure.

I hadn't been on a date since this whole thing with Batman had started almost two years ago, and Alfred knew that, so the impact of my words was visible on his face, minimal though his reaction was. He gave my shoulder a squeeze and a look that said "be careful" without him actually having to say anything. The words of warning would be for Bruce's reaction. He wouldn't do anything drastic but, whether it was because of my having a date or just not being in the bunker while he was on patrol, he wasn't going to be happy. Not that he was happy with me right now anyway.

With a sigh and another shake of my head—I wanted to scream—I pulled my thoughts away from future problems and focused instead on another potential source of problems. "Did anything interesting happen while Bruce was out with that ballerina?"

Alfred raised his eyebrows at me again, probably at my less-than-formal referral to Nastascha or whatever her name was. "Since I assume you are after any bad news, I am sorry to report that nothing untoward occurred. However, Master Wayne has decided to throw a fundraiser for Mr. Dent, whom he encountered at dinner. Apparently he was quite moved by the new District Attorney's plans for the city and decided to ensure his funding for the next election."

"When are we supposed to be having this party?"

"I do not believe Master Bruce has given much thought to the details yet."

I sighed and rubbed at my face with my hands. My touch was a little too rough on the bruises and I winced, drawing a look of concern from Alfred, one which I waved away. "Should I start the ball rolling on the fundraiser then? It should be pretty simple."

"There is no need Ms. Black. Like you say, it will be simple. If you'd like to take over," he said, gesturing at the computers behind him, "I will return to the penthouse to begin the preparations."

I nodded without thinking, but as I stepped in front of my chair, I found I was hesitant to sit down, to pick up that headset. I mumbled a goodbye to Alfred when he left, and moved my purse from the chair to the floor so I could sink down into it. I plugged the headset in and pulled it on, my finger hovering around the switch to connect me to Bruce, to Batman. I took a deep breath and hit the switch.

"So, a fundraiser for Dent?" I chose as my opening line. I was hoping I could keep the conversation lighter.

Batman was silent, but I knew he heard me. I heard the engines of the Tumbler cut off and I cast a glance at the GPS. He was on the edge of Midtown, in an alley by the looks of it. "He has to stay in office."

"He's not up for re-election for three years. Couldn't it have waited until we were a little closer?" My voice came out harsher than I meant it, damn it. My anger was coming out regardless of how hard I was trying to keep it inside. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. Batman didn't say anything, which meant the answer was obvious. "Ah, you're going for eccentric. Right." I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to stop myself from freaking out. I wasn't really sure why I was so on edge—two years of repressed emotion maybe? "So, are there are any special Batman considerations we need to take for this fundraiser?"

 _"Yes, something needs to be done about the suit, but we can talk about this later,"_ he said, exasperation plain in his voice.

"Fine."

I put the police scanner back on and pulled the headset off, hard enough to yank some of my hair out. I yelped and pressed a hand to my head, cursing out loud. Once the pain had passed and I was freed from the computers, I pushed myself to my feet and started walking around the bunker, letting my anger dissipate in the motion. I really shouldn't be this angry.

-

It was when Bruce had returned and changed into his normal clothes that I realized I was mostly angry at myself for agreeing to the date with Sam, for letting my feelings for Bruce dictate my life, even though I wanted to help. However, in all my wisdom, I didn't apologize for being short with him that morning, or for ignoring him the rest of the day, and I didn't tell him that I wasn't mad at him. I didn't do any of the smart things. I stood there with my arms crossed and did my best to keep my face blank and my mouth shut or else I was liable to start yelling at him for no good reason. Okay, maybe I had a few reasons, but I didn't really want to yell at him.

Surprisingly, it was Bruce who broke the silence. "What's wrong with you?" he asked flatly. There was no real emotion in his voice, just the question. Maybe if he'd asked it in a less blunt way, the question wouldn't have made my anger at him resurface.

"What do you think is wrong with me?" I snapped.

Evidently whatever self-control I had was shot at two in the morning. We really needed to stop having these conversations when neither of us had slept. Eventually, they were going to lead somewhere bad. Like now.

"Ellie—"

"Don't 'Ellie' me. I'm tired of pretending I didn't tell you I had feelings for you, all right? I'm tired of watching you pine for Rachel and waiting for the day when you don't have to be Batman anymore so you can be with her!" I took a step closer to him and had to keep from sneering. "I—God damn it, I love you Bruce, and you're too hung up on Rachel to even see me!"

Bruce didn't respond. He just stood there. I watched his face closely for any sign of reaction, but there was nothing, except for maybe tightness in his lips. When he didn't say anything, I groaned in frustration, grabbed my bag and stomped towards the exit. Bruce grabbed my arm as I passed him, holding tight enough to keep me from even trying to move.

"Let go of me."

"Eleanor."

"Just… don't Bruce. Don't say anything." I turned my head to look at him and was startled to find him looking at me, our faces close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek when he exhaled. "Bruce… Let go, please." His fingers tightened a bit on my arm, but he let go. "I may not be down here for a couple of nights. I think I might need a bit of a break," I admitted. "And… Sarah set me up on a date." I heard a sharp inhale, but otherwise there was no reaction. I decided to keep my speech moving. "Call me if you want me to help Alfred with the fundraiser or if something big happens with the Joker. I'll make sure the suit gets to the penthouse—in the panic room."

I stepped away from him as he nodded and something tightened in my chest. I didn't cry, but I sure as hell felt like it.

I wasn't able to fall asleep when I got home, so I turned on the police scanner I kept at home and listened as Gordon and the GCPD simultaneously seized all the banks on their hit list. All they found were the irradiated bills Batman had supplied the police. Someone had informed the crime families about the warrant it seemed, though how they'd managed to move so much money so quickly…

It seemed disappointment was rife in Gotham today.

I was late for work that morning.


	19. The Importance of Instructions

I had highly over estimated my ability to hide my emotions. I was at work for less than an hour before Mr. Fox asked me what was wrong. I attempted to deny that anything was wrong, but Lucius was not a man who could be so easily fooled, especially by someone he'd known for as long as he'd known me. He didn't push me to tell him however, but he did ask me to accompany him down to Applied Sciences. I'd agreed and about half way through the elevator ride, I'd realized what he was taking me to see.

"When did you finish the suit?" I asked with a smile as I leaned against the wall. "And is Bruce going to mind that I'm seeing it before him?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. I dropped my head back and closed my eyes. I wasn't ready to see Bruce again—it had only been a few hours—but I knew that when we stepped off that elevator and wound through the aisles of stockpiled inventions, we'd find Bruce. I took a few deep breaths but couldn't shake the tension building in my shoulders and the twisting in my gut. I was aware of Lucius watching me, but I didn't meet his gaze. The man was too damn smart and would figure out what was going on, if he hadn't figured it out already. The weight of his eyes and the comforting presence of a friend made me want to tell him though.

The elevator settled into its cradle at the end of the shaft and the doors slid open silently. The outer doors opened a fraction of a second later, exposing the massive room. The only lights that were on were the ones directly over the area we'd be in, so the room appeared more cave-like than usual. I spotted Bruce immediately, standing not too far into the collection, his attention occupied by something hidden from my view.

"In this moment, I am not very happy with you Lucius," I mumbled.

His quiet chuckle followed me as I headed to where Bruce was standing. I stopped several feet away from Bruce and gave him a watery smile before turning my attention to the pieces of black armour resting in the drawer in front of him.

"What is it made of?" I asked, running my fingers over the surface of the chest piece, tracing the bat symbol.

"Hardened Kevlar plates attached to a titanium-dipped fibre tri-weave," Lucius said, answering both my question and Bruce's questioning glance. "It'll be more flexible, and it's much lighter so you'll be more agile."

I kept my eyes on the amour, but I saw Bruce reach down and lift one of the bracers and I couldn't help but follow his hand as he raised the thing to his face—I gave myself a mental slap and told myself to stop acting like I had something to be ashamed about. Bruce examined it closely. There was a soft click and the double row of bladed scallops shot out of the bracer, past his ear and embedded in the metal of the filing cabinet behind me.

My heart leapt into my throat and I stared at Bruce, my eyes wide.

"Perhaps you should read the instructions first?" Lucius asked, his voice tight.

"Perhaps," Bruce agreed as he put the bracer back in its place. He took a step closer to me. "Are you all right?" he asked. There was something in his voice, something almost… tentative, but the sincerity was there, too.

I managed to give him a small smile as my heart settled back into my chest and the blood pounding in my ears calmed. "I'm fine, just startled."

His eyes lingered on the faint bruise on my face—it had faded a lot and with the liberal application of make-up, way, way more than I usually wore, it was almost invisible—but he didn't say anything about it. "Good." A smile flickered across his lips. "Sorry."

I waved his apology away. "No harm done."

A short burst of beeping interrupted any further conversation and Lucius excused himself to head back upstairs and attend to whatever it was he'd been paged about. He didn't say anything about it to Bruce or me, which meant we weren't needed. When we were alone in the cavernous space, we both moved so we could look down at the new Batsuit again.

"Isn't this going to make your more vulnerable to knives and bullets?" I asked, running my fingers over the stiff mesh that kept the plates of armour together.

"Yes."

"Is that worth being able to move faster?"

"It'll make it harder for the bad guys to stab or shoot me. It's not a bad trade-off," he said, voice quiet. He would know what was running through my mind—I was going to be worrying about him more since he wasn't full covered with armour. "I'll… I can handle it."

"Okay. Just don't expect me to keep the 'I told you so' quiet when you get hurt." I got a real smile for that and I returned it, pressing my lips together in an attempt to keep the expression subdued. After the moment passed, I said, "So, what was that I heard about you going to Hong Kong to get Lau back?"

"I didn't think you were listening."

"I left the headset unplugged so I could hear what was going on. Are you going to Hong Kong?"

"Indirectly. Bruce Wayne will be out of Gotham—Alfred is still coming up with an alibi—and Batman will head to Hong Kong and retrieve Lau. I was talking with Lucius about how to get back into a plane without it landing—"

"Is that even possible?"

Bruce nodded as he slid his hands into his pockets. "There's an old CIA program called Sky Hook to do just that apparently, and if we can track down a plane equipped for Sky Hook, we'll use that for extraction." He watched my face as I thought of what to say, minute changes around his eyes and lips making me wonder what he was thinking. "Lucius will be in Hong Kong, meeting with Lau to tell him that the deal with Wayne Enterprises is off."

I nodded along, trying to find a few seconds to think through my next words. "When are you doing this?"

"We'll set things in motion inside the week, but it might take a bit to get everything together and prepared." He ran hand back through his hair, a few longer strands falling back across his forehead. "We'll have the fundraiser when we get back."

I found that I was without anything else to ask—it was time to acknowledge that pronoun. "We?" For the first time that I could recall, Bruce looked a little uncertain. "Where do you need me the most?" I asked, saving him from having to explain what he'd meant—maybe he hadn't realized he'd been saying "we".

"When we find out what the alibi is and what'll require and I'll let you know."

I nodded. "Okay. Just… uh, call me, I guess."

Bruce blinked and looked genuinely surprised. Maybe he'd been expecting me to say that I'd be in the bunker that night after all. Hell, I'd kind of been expecting those words to come out of my mouth. I'd certainly been thinking them. After another moment, he nodded. "I will."

The situation had suddenly become sort of awkward. I looked down at my watch—I'd been down in Applied Sciences for quite a while and I needed to get back upstairs. "I should get back to work," I said, my voice quieter than I'd intended. I gave Bruce another smile and started to head back towards the elevator, knowing that Bruce wouldn't follow me. He'd wait until I was back upstairs and he could recall the elevator.

"Eleanor."

I stopped and turned.

He was silent, but he didn't remove his eyes from mine.

"What?" I prompted.

"I… Ellie, I see you."

Everything about me froze. I didn't know to react to that. I didn't know what to say. When my lungs began to ache, I inhaled a deep breath, turned on my heel and got back in the elevator.

-

I didn't see or hear from Bruce that night or the next day. I found myself anxious to hear from him, to know what he wanted me to do with this venture to Hong Kong. I did laundry, cooked and froze a bunch of meals, cleaned my loft top to bottom, used meticulous detail in all my work for Lucius, and sorted through my clothes to select a huge pile for donation—anything to keep from thinking about Bruce, about running to the bunker, about what he'd said in Applied Sciences.

When it came time, I focused intently on getting ready for my date with Sam. We were going to a nice restaurant—nothing too fancy, but a good place nonetheless—so I dressed appropriately. I pulled on a knee-length purple dress and black heels, adding a black shrug to ward against the chill of the late-summer evening. I applied simple makeup and left my hair down, noticing as I put big, soft curls into it, that it hung almost to my elbows. It was getting long, longer than I'd had it in a long time. After some consideration, I pulled the top section of my hair back and secured it with a black clip. Then I stood for a minute and stared at my reflection, marvelling at how disconnected I felt from the woman staring back at me.

I wanted to be back in my jean cut-offs and a baggy t-shirt, sitting in front of the bank of computers, watching green dots and biofeeds on the screens. I wanted to be listening to Bruce's growling Batman voice.

I shook my head hard and stomped out of the bathroom, grabbing the small black purse that I'd shoved my keys, licence, cash, cards, and cell phone into and left my loft, making sure the door was locked behind me. Sam pulled up a bare second after I hit the sidewalk outside my building, driving a black SUV of some sort. He parked and got out, giving me a friendly smile. It was infectious and I smiled back.

"You look great," he said as he opened the car door for me.

It was a polite gesture, so I didn't say anything, but I generally didn't like having doors opened for me. Just a quirk. "You don't look too bad yourself," I replied. He really didn't: dress pants and a long-sleeved shirt that was grey and made his pale blue eyes appear darker. Casual but nice, just like my outfit.

"Have you ever been to Café Noir before?"

"No, though I've been meaning to go. I, uh, don't get out much," I added as a tentative afterthought.

To my surprise, he didn't seem put-off by that response like a lot of guys Sarah had set me up with. He took his eyes off the road for a split second to give me another dazzling smile. "Sarah mentioned that your work keeps you busy." I made some sort of noise of acknowledgement. "You work at Wayne Enterprises, right?"

"Yeah. I'm the executive assistant to Mr. Fox."

"The CEO of the company? Impressive."

I chuckled at the impressed and amused tone in his voice. We passed the rest of the drive to the restaurant chatting about the little things that led to getting to know someone and the chatter continued after we were seated in the restaurant, looking at each other over a small, square table. The room around us was big and open, making the place feel empty, even though it was packed. We were by a window that overlooked a small garden someone had built in the alley between the buildings. The windows were huge, almost covering the entire wall. I craned my head upwards trying to see the rooftops far overhead.

"What are you looking at?" Sam asked.

I realized I must have missed a question or a reply. "Oh—nothing. Sorry, did you say something?"

"I just asked you what you like to do for fun."

"When I have free time, I like to read. That's about the only thing I do to unwind or for enjoyment. The rest of my time is filled with work. Although… I do enjoy going for runs with Sarah and that karate class that gave me the black eye." I gestured at my face. "What about you?"

Sam looked down at the plate containing what was left of his salad and he looked a little ashamed. "Well, when I'm not working—or sleeping—I like to play video games."

I smiled. For some reason, I found that cute. I told him so and he blushed a bit, which was even cuter. Damn it, I wasn't ready to like the guy this much, not so fast. I fell silent as I finished my own appetizer—cheese and spinach in some sort of pastry—and wondered about what to say next, what I could ask. He'd been taking the lead in the conversation so far, and I was keen to let him. I didn't do small talk very often, and never with Bruce. Just as Sam was about to open his mouth to ask me something else, my phone erupted in a phrase from one of my favourite soundtracks.

It was Bruce's ringtone.

"Do you need to get that?" Sam asked, voice free of anger or annoyance or anything.

I made a face. "I probably should. Sorry."

"No apology needed."

I answered the phone there at the table, because I had nothing to hide. "Hey," I said, my voice filling with more emotion then I'd planned. Maybe I did have something to hide.

_"Will you stop by the bunker before you head home?"_

His voice filled me with happiness and relief and confusion. I hoped none of it showed on my face. "I'll try. Remind me to show you how to send a text message," I added.

 _"'Night Ellie,"_ he replied, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Bye." I hung up and shoved the phone back in my purse, turning off the ringer as I did so. "No more interruptions," I promised Sam.

He raised his hands. "I can't promise the same."

"Well, if you get called, it's probably a very sick or dying child. That kind of interruption is allowed."

The date went well and it ended with me asking Sam if he wanted to come to the fundraiser Bruce was throwing for Harvey Dent. After he'd gotten over the fact that I was friends with Bruce Wayne, he'd agreed. I told him I'd call him with the details when I had them and I gave him my number. He drove me home and got out of the car with me, but only to kiss my cheek and wish me good night. He squeezed my hand and as he was walking back to his car, I entered the lobby of my building. I didn't take the elevator upstairs. Instead, I opened the door to the parking garage and made for my car.

I liked Sam, and I wasn't going to deny that. So far, he actually was the kind, sweet man he appeared, but I wasn't ready to believe that. I wasn't ready to let myself like him as much as my brain or heart or whatever told me I should. Maybe I would have been more willing to fall for Sam, if the idea of seeing Bruce after just a day and a half wasn't as exciting as it was. If the idea of getting back down in that bunker to help Batman protect and better Gotham wasn't as enticing as it was. If the idea of helping Batman bring a major criminal to justice wasn't as thrilling as it was.

But it was exciting. It was all exciting, even after only a day and a half.

Maybe I had a problem.


	20. Hong Kong via Audio

A week later, I found myself in the cargo bay of a plane, dressed all in warm, black clothes akin to fatigues. It had taken almost the entire week to confirm the plane's ability to function, to organize the alibi, gather everything we would need for this excursion to Hong Kong, and to figure out exactly what the plan was. Originally, I'd been slated to go to LSI Holdings with Mr. Fox to tell Mr. Lau that the deal with Wayne Enterprises was off, but that hadn't lasted very long. Lucius had insisted that he didn't need any help delivering the message and that Bruce would be able to find something more useful for me to other than just tag along with him. Bruce had spent a couple days deciding what would be better, and then finally asked me what I'd rather do—progress.

Since the options were stay at the island house with the Moscow ballet and keep an ear on things—Bruce's alibi consisted of whisking the entire ballet away for a few days to an island paradise—or staying on the plane as it picked Bruce up and he retrieved Lau and keep an ear on things, I was picking the plane. I could barely handle Sarah's girly ways. There was no way I would make it with a dozen or more ballerinas.

So, I was sitting in the back end of the plane, behind the barrier blocking off the pilot and the minimal crew from finding out who they were working for. I had a hard case full of portable equipment ready to be set up when we were flying to Hong Kong, but right now it lay dormant. Much like me, seated as comfortably as I could managed on the hard, narrow seat. The plane was headed to the rendezvous point somewhere in the Pacific Ocean to pick up Bruce, and then we would be on the way to get Lau.

There was a knot of nervousness in my gut. I'd never been this actively involved before, with the exception of the time I'd decided attacking a Batman imposter with a hunk of wood was a good idea.

The knot of nervousness also had to do with the fact that when we got back to Gotham the next day, we had to get ready for the fundraiser, the party that I'd invited Sam to as my date. After Bruce had said… what he'd said. I still didn't know what that meant, and we hadn't talked about it. Oh well… I'd worry about it later, when Lau was back in Gotham and in police custody.

The plane dipped, effectively pulling my attention away from any thoughts of my personal life, and I braced myself for landing, buckling the heavy-duty belt across my torso. I'd never landed on water before and I'd never been on a plane that wasn't a passenger jet. When we hit the water, it was rough, but not exceptionally so. If I hadn't bumped my head on the metal wall, it probably wouldn't have been much different at all. I unbuckled myself as we came to a stop and half-walked, half-stumbled to the very back of the plane, trying my best to move with the rocking of the plane in the waves. I pressed the button and pulled the lever to open the hatch.

I squinted as the bright sunshine hit my eyes and gave my head a shake. The world came into focus and I could make out the yacht, teeming with crewmen in white uniforms and ballerinas in pink bikinis and Alfred, standing in the middle of it all watching Bruce swim towards the plane. I smiled and waved at Alfred, who waved back. I had a second to prepare myself before I had to catch the large black bag Bruce threw up at me, the bag containing the Batsuit and all of the gadgets Bruce would need; he'd wanted to keep the suit with him, just in case the flight crew had to come into the back of the plane for some reason.

I stepped back out of the doorway and carried the bag to the netting on the wall where I could secure it. "How are the ballerinas?" I could feel the look Bruce was giving me and I laughed. "Okay, okay—so what's next?" I asked, turning to face him and tossing him the small towel that he'd asked me to bring so he could dry his hair and chest. I did my best to not watch. "I just want to make sure I've got the plan down."

Bruce dug a smaller bag out of the large one he'd tossed at me and started changing into the suit he'd wear for the high-altitude jump. "We head for Hong Kong. I'll jump to the water and they'll take the plane to refuel. You'll stay on the plane to make sure they stay on schedule. You'll communicate—"

"With the radio, I know."

"With the radio," Bruce repeated with an injection of authority in his voice, making sure I knew I wasn't supposed to interrupt anymore. "When the plane is refueled, you'll head back to the city and circle at high altitude until I launch the sticky bombs at the window. When the second countdown is at one minute, you head for LSI Holdings."

"And then we scoop you back into the plane."

Bruce stopped with the suit halfway done up. "Eleanor—"

I waved away the impending talk about my worrying. "You'll be fine, I know. Unless you plummet to the Earth because the hook doesn't function properly." I sat back down on the bench and buckled myself in as the plane gave a shudder and started up again. Bruce followed suit beside me. "I won't say anything else about it, Bruce, but this is not a normal patrol or occurrence or anything. If that hook doesn't work—you're dead."

"It won't malfunction," Bruce assured me. "It's been checked many times. It works."

I closed my eyes as the plane began to lift off and didn't open them again until we'd leveled out. I hated take-offs. Once I'd adjusted to the change in pressure and adjusted a little bit to the drop in temperature, I unbuckled myself and started walking around the open space, trying to keep warm. I looked over at Bruce, who was shrugging into the rest of the jump suit. The bit of his chest that was still visible was prickled with goose bumps and the flesh around a newer scar had puckered slightly. I shook my head, stopped looking, and started pacing around the cargo bay again.

"You should get some rest," Bruce said. "It's going to be a long flight and we'll be up for a long time."

"Good idea. Is there a blanket anywhere?" I'd meant it as a joke. I'd already thought how stupid I'd been not to bring a blanket or a sweater. Oversight.

"Bottom of your bag."

I sat back down on the bench and started carefully digging to the bottom, where I found the blanket I'd brought to the bunker the previous winter. I smiled at Bruce before I wrapped it around my shoulders and attempted to find a comfortable position.

-

The only light in the plane with me that night came from the small laptop I was using the keep in touch with Batman. It was eerie, sitting there in the dark, buckled to the bench, with my headset—twice as big as the one back in the bunker—blocking almost all outside sound. I was in my own little world, and I would have been totally oblivious to everything, except for the increasing turbulence. I did my best not to let it—or the potential it had to screw up the Sky Hook—bother me too much.

Batman was currently ascending the taller of Lau's two buildings, planning on using it to glide into the upper floors of the main building, the one with all the security that Mr. Fox had visited earlier that day. He was also filling me in on the sonar technology Lucius had developed—I'd known he was working on something, but I hadn't paid too much attention; if he'd wanted me to know, Mr. Fox would have told me. According to Bruce, the device Lucius had planted inside the building would broadcast a signal that turned it and all the cell phones or tablet computers in range into a sonar network, displaying an image of the building on a second phone that was in Bruce's custody. He was planning on making it so the feed was visible via special lenses in his cowl.

 _"I'm at the top of the building,"_ he said, switching topics. He'd changed somewhere on the way up, on an abandoned floor, so I could picture him standing, the pointy-eared silhouette defined against the bright lights of Hong Kong.

I heard four distinct pops. "Sticky bombs," I said. "Twenty seconds for the first wave?"

_"Yes. A minute thirty for the second."_

I bit my lip as I listened to Batman launch himself off the building, heard the crack as the hard pack on his back burst open. I knew how the cape functioned—he would stiffen the wings and glide across the open space until he could safely land in the building, when the cape would once again fall soft around his shoulders. Belatedly, I realized I'd closed my eyes. They shot open when I heard the explosion of the first two sticky bombs, the tinkling of tempered glass hitting what was likely a tiled floor.

 _"I'm in,"_ Batman said, completely for my benefit.

"A call went out to the police a few seconds ago and by the sounds of his anger, Lau is expecting them soon. He must've bribed them or something." I couldn't speak Chinese, but some things translated just fine regardless of language barriers.

_"I can hear the sirens."_

He didn't say anything after that, his energy all reserved for taking out Lau's men, for utilizing the darkness the building had been plunged into. I knew he'd be mentally counting down the time until the second wave of sticky bombs went off. I had a timer running. When that clock hit sixty seconds, I picked up the radio on the bench beside me. "Head for LSI Holdings—watch the shorter building," I told the only man on the flight crew who could speak English well enough to understand me. He made some sort of acknowledgement into the radio, so I turned my focus back to Batman. "We're on the way."

The only response I got was the sound of gunshots and fighting. The gunshots still bothered me, but it was less than it had been even a few weeks ago—I would know if Bruce got shot and I would worry then.

Forty-five seconds.

The roar of the plane got louder as we dropped closer to the buildings, the sound echoing back at us. By the map on my computer, I could see we were just on the edge of the city proper. Someone screamed loud enough on Batman's end of things for me to wince.

Thirty seconds.

A bone snapped right next to the microphone in Batman's cowl. Batman grunted in pain but broke away from the fight—I could tell by the sounds of frustration.

Fifteen seconds.

A voice that had to be Lau started shrieking in Chinese as Batman grabbed him. I could hear the clinking of the metal on the harness for the Sky Hook. Lau switched to English and started screaming at Batman to let him go, to stop what he was doing.

Ten seconds.

Further sounds of fighting as one of the henchmen got his second wind—Batman dispatched him quickly.

Five seconds.

Batman was dragging a struggling Lau across a floor littered with glass and broken wood and God knew what else. Lau was still screaming. My stomach started twisting and doing flips—there was too much that could go wrong here.

The sticky bombs went off. Glass exploded and Lau screamed as it rained down on his unprotected face, as Batman walked back towards the edge. A sharp snap sounded and a new signal appeared on my computer: the weather balloon that had been modified for the Sky Hook program. I got a verbal confirmation that the pilot had visual on the balloon.

I held my breath as the plane approached and exhaled slowly as the balloon's signal merged with that of the plane. We had them.

 _"I'm reeling us up,"_ Batman said.

At the same time, the radio at my side buzzed. _"The hook will not close any farther!"_

"What?!"

_"It will not close! If they do not hurry, they will fall!"_

"Did you hear that?" I asked, voice thin. I'd held the radio close to the microphone on the headset. I didn't have to see my reflection to know that my eyes were wide and my mouth was hanging open a bit.

_"The motor is reeling as fast as it can, but we're slipping. Lau's unconscious."_

He sounded so calm—too calm. "You can't fall. You said the hook wouldn't malfunction."

 _"Ellie,"_ he growled, employing the nickname only he used to snap me out of the encroaching shock. _"I am not going to fall."_

Even at the back of the plane, I heard the sound of the cable slipping out of the hook. I closed the laptop, unable to watch the signal fall away. I pulled of the headset, just in time to hear a familiar sound: the grappling hook biting into the metal of the plane. The scream I'd been stifling escaped, but it was a yell of relief. I nearly leapt across the space between me and the door. I couldn't open it fast enough.

The night sky of Hong Kong nearly blinded me, but I still managed to locate the black shape of Batman approaching, the line in his grappling hook reeling him and Lau in. Batman grabbed the bars on the hatch and used them to climb into the cargo bay. He sort of tossed Lau to one side and I ran to secure the criminal to the netting so he couldn't escape when he woke up—if he woke up before we got back to Gotham. I also secured his hands with a zip tie from Batman's utility belt and pulled a canvas bag over his head just in case he woke up; Bruce was prepared for everything.

That done, I turned my attention to Batman, to Bruce.

He had closed the hatch, plunging the cargo bay into darkness once again. I hit the switch I hadn't thought to use until right then, the one that turned on the dim overhead lighting. It flickered periodically, but I could see again. I could see Bruce sitting on the bench, the cowl removed and his eyes closed. I grabbed the towel he'd used earlier and sat beside him, close enough that our shoulders touched.

Bruce took the towel and wiped the sweat from his face and hair. "It malfunctioned," he said quietly.

"Yeah."

He turned his head so he could look at me, his eyes dark with… fear. He was shaken. I couldn't remember seeing Bruce actually scared in… in years. I wrapped my hand around the hard material of the bracer on his left arm. He didn't look away from my face.

After a few heartbeats, Bruce got to his feet and retrieved the giant black bag from the netting. He pulled off the Batsuit and stored it away, leaving him in just the t-shirt and shorts. I walked over to him with the blanket, which he wrapped around his shoulders. I almost turned and walked back to the bench to start putting away my equipment, but something in Bruce's face kept me where I was. I placed a hand on his bicep, squeezed slightly. He moved a bit closer.

With Lau on board and us on the way back to Gotham, there was nothing else for me distract myself with and standing there, close to Bruce… tears appeared in my eyes. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I'm fine."

I looked up at him, forced myself to smile and tried to stop the tears before I started sobbing. The adrenaline that had built up was rushing out of my body and I was starting to feel exhausted and shaky. I broke away from the eye contact and returned to the bench, dropping heavily onto the metal surface. Bruce changed the shorts for jeans and then sat beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders so the blanket was draped over us both. I looked at him again, the smile more genuine this time.

Following a sudden impulse that I was sure was the product of adrenaline and worry and not enough sleep, I craned my head up and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. Before I could pull away to settle against his shoulder and fall asleep, Bruce caught my face with his hand and mimicking the soft kiss, but on my lips.

I chalked it up to the near-death experience and tried not to let my mind run away as I closed my eyes. There was a new stiffness in my shoulders as I dropped my head and willed sleep to come. We probably wouldn't talk about this either—it probably didn't mean anything, anyway—and I tried to tell myself that I didn't mind. There were more important things to worry about now anyway.


	21. The Trust Fund Brigade

Gotham City was just waking up by the time we returned to the penthouse. I hadn't slept well on the plane—I didn't sleep well on regular planes, let alone ones with no proper seats or temperature control—but there was no time to sleep right now; Lau may have been back in the custody of GCPD, but we had a fundraiser to throw that evening and there was still a lot of preparation to be done, at least from the Batman side of things. There would be a hoard of wait staff at the penthouse in a few hours to take care of the more mundane preparations, under the ever-watchful eye of Alfred of course.

I looked longingly at the bed in the spare bedroom where I'd dropped my bag before heading for Bruce's room.

"So," I said as I stepped into the open area that constituted the room, defined only by the room dividers. "What do I need to grab from the bunker while you're out on the town, assuring the world that Bruce Wayne is home with his horde of ballerinas and ready to throw this party?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows at me, one corner of his mouth pulling up in amusement. The expression didn't cover his whole face, it just touched his eyes and all I could think about was the way his lips had felt when he'd kissed me. I shook my head and made myself listen to what he was saying. Now was not the time to be thinking about that.

"A cape, replacement bracers, both large and small batarangs, a new grappling line, and you can take the sticky bomb gun and the glider back."

I repeated the list back to him as he handed me the bag to take back to the bunker, and he nodded to confirm that I had it right. "Call me if you think of anything else," I said before my mind could wander off in the wrong direction again. "I'm going to run to my place first to get my things for the fundraiser, and then I'll head to the bunker." All I got was another nod as he returned to looking over the Batsuit he'd worn in Hong Kong. "All right, I'll see you later."

As I was leaving, I spotted Alfred in the kitchen, arguing with a middle-aged man who I thought was the head waiter for the company who'd be staffing the party. I almost paused to listen in, but that Batsuit needed to get into the panic room before people started arriving, before someone might see.

In the light traffic, it only took me fifteen minutes to get into the north end of Gotham and to my loft. As I walked through the open concept rooms to my closet, I realized the place didn't really feel like home anymore, it wasn't some place I was comfortable. Since I hadn't come home other than to sleep, shower, or change in the last few years, I wasn't really surprised. I mulled over the curious realization as I flipped through my closet, trying to decide on a dress for the party. Eventually I settled on a bright green thing because it was different than the blue or black I normally wore, and it was one my mother had made me buy and she was going to be there tonight. It was about an inch too long, so I had to pick a pair of heels that were higher than I was comfortable in, but it was a nice, I looked good in it, and the fundraiser was only for a few hours. I'd be fine.

On the way back out, I noticed the light on my answering machine was blinking. I dropped my pile of things on the couch and hit the button, trying to figure out who would call my home phone rather than my cell phone—I wasn't even sure why I still had the damn thing.

_"Hi, this message is for Eleanor. It's Derek Avery, from Gotham Central Dojo. I just wanted to let you know that I now have a place in my class that I'll hold for you. You can reach me at the dojo or my cell—both numbers I believe you already have. I look forward to hearing from you."_

I'd originally called the dojo right after Bruce had stopped teaching me. Since then, I'd practiced what I knew whenever I had some time—mostly while I was in the bunker, waiting for something to happen or for Batman to say something—but I'd been anxious to get back to learning. Gotham Central Dojo was the best one in the city, and they had a wide variety of lesson times. It had been several weeks since the call, and I'd almost given up hope. Standing there in my living room, I gave a small yell of excitement. I was on the phone with the dojo a moment later, my cell tucked between my head and my shoulder as I gathered up my things and hustled out of the apartment, barely remembering to lock the door on my way out.

-

My excitement didn't get to last very long.

I returned to the bunker about an hour later, laden down with my things and the things for Batman. I dropped my things in the spare bedroom and headed back to Bruce's bedroom and the entrance to the panic room where he was keeping the Batsuit for the night. Bruce was still gone, so I let myself into the hidden room, got everything put in its place and then decided I had time to take a nap.

When I woke up, I discovered I'd slept much longer than intended. The penthouse was full of men and women dressed in black and white, food, booze, and a lot of tables. Bleary-eyed and messy-haired and dressed in a baggy t-shirt and pyjama pants, I wandered downstairs to the main room, which had been cleared of all furniture and cleaned within an inch of its life. In the middle of everything stood Alfred, overseeing the commotion with his sharp eyes. I stood on the steps and watched for a moment.

"This is a black tie event," Bruce said from behind me.

I smiled and turned to look at him as he moved down to the step beside me. He was mostly dressed, just missing his tie and jacket. "What? This is the latest look from Milan," I replied with a flourish at my less-than-appropriate attire.

That actually got a short burst of laughter. I almost asked him about the kiss then, if it had meant anything, but I only got out a few words before the look on his face made me fall silent. If he'd been about to say anything though, it was cut off by the sudden increase of volume on a TV I hadn't previously noticed. It was breaking news, apparently. Bruce and I descended the stairs to join Alfred in front of the television, where the headline was "Batman Dead?" and the image was of a man in a Batman suit, lying on the ground with the exposed part of his face painted with the Joker's hideous grin. The reporter came on and warned the viewers that the following footage may be disturbing and I knew, I knew before the Joker was even mentioned, what I was about to see.

The video started and it was grainy and greenish and the guy—the imposter Batman who had died, Brian Douglas—was terrified. He was shaking and near to tears and the voice that was ordering him around belonged to the Joker. The fear I always felt when I saw the Joker or thought about him too much started to creep through my body.

Because he knew how scared I got when I had to face the Joker, Bruce reached back and took my hand.

I squeezed it tightly, but I made myself watch as the Joker tormented the poor man. I made myself watch and take in every detail that I could. I let myself be glad that it wasn't Bruce who was lying dead in the street outside the mayor's office. I let myself be sorry that the poor man had to die for doing something he thought was good. When Brian said that Batman meant he didn't have to be afraid of the Joker, I felt something like kinship and I squeezed Bruce's hand again.

When the Joker turned the camera around, he let out a giggle that sent fresh shivers down my spine. _"Batman must take his mask off and turn himself in. Every day he doesn't, people will die. Starting tonight._

_"I'm a man of my word."_

The Joker's laugh filled the speakers and echoed in the silent room, even after Alfred had switched the TV off. As the fear slowly ebbed out of my body, I realized Bruce was squeezing my hand too. He wasn't scared though—he was angry. I could see it in the white line of his lips, the knot of muscle in his jaw. He wanted to go out right now and fight the Joker, stop him from hurting, from killing anyone else, but he couldn't.

I stepped closer and put my other hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to go get ready," I said, trying to keep any residual fear out of my words. "You just focus on being Bruce Wayne tonight. I'll be listening to the police scanner all night and I'll let you know if anything comes up. The Batsuit is here," I whispered. "You can go if you have to. Alfred and I can handle everything here. If we have to."

I didn't know what else I could say, if anything, so I just turned and left, climbing back upstairs to shower and change and prepare myself for a fundraiser that was going to be infinitely more tense and stressful than I originally thought.

-

An hour and a half later, when the sun was beginning to set, guests started to arrive, dressed in their finery and looking like a parade of peacocks. Or maybe I was just bitter and scared. They entered the main room, where the tables were laden with food and the waiters moved about the crowd with champagne, and slowly, the penthouse began to fill up. I kept close to the stairs, pacing while listening to the police scanner and watching for my parents, for Sarah, and for Sam. As I knew they would, Mom and Dad were among of the first to arrive, and my Mom spent a good long time grilling me on the trip to Hong Kong, my date with Sam, and Bruce's location. Thankfully, Sarah and her boyfriend Aaron arrived soon after, and my Dad took the opportunity to drag Mom away to greet some of their friends who were also in attendance. We shared a few words before she was off to do her thing and mingle.

"Is Bruce planning on making an appearance tonight?"

I pulled myself away from the police scanner in my ear and managed to smile a greeting at Rachel, who had appeared out of the crowd. She looked quite nice, but not happy about being there. I looked at the clock on the wall and then back at Rachel and the tall blond man standing slightly behind her. "He should be here any second, now that the guest of honour is here."

Harvey Dent flashed me a smile that was somehow both genuine and brilliant as he extended his hand. "Harvey Dent."

"Eleanor Black. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Dent—I'm very impressed with what you've accomplished in Gotham, most recently getting Surillo to try so many of the organized crime families at once. Incredible." Dent actually looked a little… sheepish as he nodded his thanks, so I backed off. Who would have known he was modest? Rachel started to move away, and I took the opportunity to excuse myself. "I hope you two enjoy the party," I said, smiling at both Harvey and Rachel again before extracting myself from the area.

It was as I was crossing the room that the helicopter showed up, the thrumming of its blades interrupting every conversation in the room. Like everyone else, I stopped and watched Bruce Wayne—every inch the brainless, billionaire playboy tonight—stumble out of the helicopter, pulling three models out after him, all wearing bright dresses and stumbling around more than Bruce, though they were actually half in the bottle. I felt my mouth pull back as I tried to repress a smile. The balcony doors swung open and Bruce walked in, the models flanking him and doing their best to stay on their heels.

As Bruce moved towards the the middle of the room, saying hello or otherwise greeting everyone he passed, I continued my interrupted trek to find somewhere quieter and more private so I could better hear the police scanner. Bruce caught my eye and his face turned serious for a second. I gave him a small nod, and the moment passed. He knew I was still listening, that I would alert him if I heard anything. With the Joker's threat on TV that afternoon, I wasn't really in a partying mood and I didn't want to hear about anyone else being tortured or killed by the madman on the news tomorrow. If something did happen… maybe if I heard it early enough, Batman could stop him, could catch him, and this could all be over. Bruce began speaking to the room, but I didn't hear what he was saying. I had to listen.

"Eleanor."

I started at the sound of Sam's voice and looked up into his smiling face. He was standing in front of me, between me and the rest of the room. I'd backed myself up against a wall and Sam was too close for my comfort—I felt a little claustrophobic. Still, I smiled at Sam. "Hey. I was beginning to think you weren't going to show."

"My last patient… There was more wrong with him than I originally thought. I had to get him to the hospital."

"Oh, well I hope he's okay." I took a step forward, forcing Sam to back up, took a deep breath when I was in open space again. "You didn't have to come. You could have stayed with him." With my mind focused mostly on the Joker and the rest on keeping myself calm, I'd forgotten that Sam was supposed to show up. I opened my mouth to say something else, but—

"Ellie!"

I started for the second time in less than five minutes and mentally cursed at myself for being so on edge that I couldn't focus properly. I rounded on Bruce, who was approaching with a large, goofy grin on his face. "Hi Bruce," I mumbled.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "I was wondering where you'd snuck off to! And who might you be?" he asked, looking at Sam.

I gently elbowed Bruce in the ribs. "This is Dr. Sam Connors. Sam, this is Bruce Wayne, my oldest friend."

A few things happened then, nearly at the same time, things that entirely changed the course of the evening. First, Bruce disengaged from me and approached Sam, leading him back into the crowd with his hand on his arm and his intense tone. Second, the earpiece popped as someone started talking, nearly screaming, on the other end.

_"The DNA that was found on the Joker card on Douglas's body has been identified. All units please respond: the DNA has been identified as Judge Surillo, Police Commissioner Loeb, and Harvey Dent."_

My body went cold as the police band erupted with chatter. I gave my head a shake to clear the cobwebs brought on by fear and hurried to catch up with Bruce, wrapping my fingers around his arm. He stopped and turned, face serious. I don't know what he saw in my face, but suddenly, he was moving, leaving me and Sam standing with dumfounded looks on our faces, though I was willing to be the reasons behind those looks were very different.

Then the elevator bell dinged and the doors opened onto the main room, revealing the Joker and a handful of his thugs.

I lost the ability to move.

The white face, the greenish hair, the ghastly smile was less than fifty feet away from me. Even from the opposite side of the room, I could see every line in his face, the yellow on his teeth and he grinned. I heard the laughter building and I kept flashing on imagines of Brian Douglas and the torture he must have gone through before he died. The Joker scanned the room as he walked, slowly, deliberately into the crowd, and I knew he was here for Harvey, here to kill Gotham's White Knight.

"We are tonight's entertainment!" the Joker exclaimed, spinning on one foot, that grin still on his face. "Who wants to participate?"


	22. Buildings and Bullets

I must have been silent and still for some time, because when I managed to pull myself back to reality, Sam was all but hauling be out of the main room by my arm. I yanked myself free and moved back to where I could see what was going on: the Joker was striding around the room, demanding that someone tell him where Harvey Dent was. I could see Rachel watching with narrowed eyes, shifting her weight around like she was considering taking some action. Harvey was nowhere to be seen. Bruce had probably found some place for him to hide. I found my parents, Sarah, and Aaron together near the back of the crowd, trying to stay out of sight. I didn't bother looking for Bruce because I knew where he would be.

I looked from them to the kitchen to Sam and then pulled him close. I was scared almost witless by the Joker, but I wasn't going to just stand by. "Sam," I whispered, surprised at the amount of authority I was able to put into my voice. "Get my parents, Sarah, Aaron—anyone else you can get to move. Get them and take them down the stairs in the kitchen. Get them out of here. And call the police." I pushed away from him, but his hand wrapped around my arm and pulled me back. "Let go of me."

"What about you?"

I once again freed myself. "Just get them out of here, please. I'll be fine." I'd tried for reassuring, but I wasn't sure that was how my voice came across.

Sam looked like he was going to say something else, but he turned and marched away instead. My attention went back to the Joker immediately, all thoughts of Sam gone from my mind. I moved towards the front of the crowd, my eyes tracking the movements of the demented clown, the fear he inspired in me turning my insides colder the longer I looked at him. He was still moving about the room, but now he was waving a gun with one hand and nibbling at a shrimp skewer clutched in his other hand.

"Someone bring me Harvey Dent or I'll start killing you one by one by one until there is no one left!"

"That's enough."

I whipped around at Rachel's words and watched her move out into the middle of the empty space that had opened around the Joker. The look on her face was almost perfectly indifferent, her eyes tracking the Joker as he stalked around her, sizing her up like prey. Rachel met my eyes for a second and I understood what she was doing. She must have seen me encouraging Sam to get people out of there. I gave her a small nod and stepped back into the crowd, telling anyone who could pull their eyes away to slowly get to the kitchen and down the stairs. A few people took my advice, but most were too scared to move. I could sympathize. It was taking everything I had to keep moving, to not run and hide.

"You."

I heard the hammer on a gun snap back, the metallic noise turning my entire body to ice. I wasn't facing the Joker, but I knew he was talking to me.

"Turn around."

I did, knowing that my eyes were wide and I was starting to shake. I did my best to keep my fear from showing on my face.

"What do you think you're doing? Hmm? You think you can save them?"

I nodded at Rachel and used the words I'd heard her utter a few second before. "I'm not scared of you," I said, proud that my voice was steady and sure.

The Joker raised his eyebrows, his mouth dropping open in mock surprise. His finger moved from the trigger of the semi-automatic weapon in his grasp, pointing it at the ceiling. "We have some fighters here—Harvey Dent's main squeeze and you. Who are you? Why are you protecting Gotham's White Knight?" he asked, putting extra snap on the T's in his words.

I made myself take a few steps forward, putting some distance between me and the other guests, just in case something happened. Maybe that little bit of distance would save someone. Sam would have had time to get Mom, Dad, Sarah, and Aaron out by now. Batman would be here any second. Maybe I could stall the Joker long enough. I balled my hands into fists, pressing my nails against my palms until the pain could help me focus, help me operate beyond the cold fear.

"I'm someone who's not afraid to stand up to you."

A crazed smile took over the Joker's face and he reached to the side, grabbing Rachel and pulling her to him, tossing his gun away and drawing a short knife from somewhere; even from the distance I was at, I could see that the edge was wickedly sharp. Rachel's eyes went so wide I could see white all around her irises. She locked her gaze onto mine and I didn't look away from her. I saw her set her mouth and then she spun into the Joker, the clown raising his knife to her face, mimicking the position of his ghastly scars.

I considered grabbing one of the heavy serving platters from the nearby table and smashing it on the Joker's head, but that idea was quickly banished when one of the Joker's thugs aimed his weapon at me, his eyes daring me to try something.

Part of me wanted to stay put and let the very last of my resolve vanish under the second gun of the night being aimed at me. Part of me wanted to just stand there and watch—I'd tried, right? Another part wanted me to keep going, keep trying. That was the part that won out. That was the part that always won out.

I took a step forward, just as Rachel managed to land a hit on the Joker's face. I took another step and Batman showed up.

The fight was quick and brutal. The Joker moved with strength but no real training, relying on his knives. He landed a lucky shot with a knife blade that popped out of his shoe, but the hit didn't stop Batman. Even when blood started to leak from the hole, Batman didn't slow. A few of the thugs attacked Batman as he threw the Joker across the room, but he laid them out cold, but the distraction gave the Joker time enough to grab hold of Rachel again and put another knife to her throat.

"Drop the knife," Batman growled.

"Sure," the Joker answered with a shrug. "Just take off your little mask and show us who you really are—"

I tensed because Rachel was shaking her head and Batman looked like he was actually considering it. When I'd heard the Joker's demands on the news earlier, I hadn't wasted any time worrying about them because I hadn't thought that Bruce would give it any consideration. He couldn't give up Batman—he wouldn't. I'd been so sure of that. But I knew, watching him in that moment that he might just take off his mask to save Rachel.

Luckily for me and for the rest of Gotham, the Joker didn't give Batman the chance. He snagged a shotgun from somewhere or someone and shot out the window pane beside him, spinning Rachel out so she was dangling into the night. A small scream escaped her lips and the Joker chuckled.

"Let her go."

"Oh, very poor choice of words," he sneered.

And he let Rachel go.

Batman turned and met my eyes, just for a fraction of a second, and then he threw himself from the window, after Rachel.

I was at the window, the mild night air stinging my eyes, before I realized I'd moved. The Joker was right beside me, his face twisted into what I thought was supposed to be a smile. I could feel his breath on my cheek, smell the acrid stench coming off him.

"I could make you tell me who he is."

I could feel my body starting to shake again. I didn't look at him, didn't say anything. I didn't trust myself any farther. I felt like I was going to break down at any moment.

Sirens suddenly split the air and the Joker stepped away, his head turned towards the window like he was scenting the air. He drew in a breath and let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. I shivered when those eyes landed on me again. He reached out to touch me and I swatted his hand away, which only caused him to laugh again, a chuckle that started quietly and built as he stepped away.

"Looks like the party is over boys," he said. The thugs fell in behind their leader and they filled the elevator—they'd pulled the emergency stop, keeping the car at the top so no one else could come up. "The cavalry is here. Harvey Dent will have to wait." The Joker's eyes roved over the party guests, settled on me again. He cackled and hit the button with his foot.

His laughter stuck with me for the rest of the night.

-

"Oh my God, Eleanor! Are you okay?"

I was returning the simultaneous hug from my Mom and Dad before I realized what was wrong with that picture. I pushed myself back from them. "What are you still doing up here?" I asked. I looked around the remaining guests, most of whom were chatting with the police, and sure enough, there was Sarah, standing in the arms of her boyfriend. There was no sign of Sam. "I told Sam to get you guys out of here!"

"I didn't seem him, baby—are you okay?"

I made myself smile at Mom and I hugged here again. Her red hair was in disarray and her eyes were still wide with panic. "I'm fine Mom, I promise. Just shaken."

Dad's hand closed on my shoulder and squeezed. "We're all shaken," he said. "That man… Someone needs to stop him." Something in my father's tone made me look closer at his expression. He knew something was up with his daughter and the fact that she'd almost thrown herself out a window, but he wasn't going to say anything, especially not in front of Mom. "Are you sure you're all right, Eleanor?"

I nodded. "I'm fine, but I'm going to stick around and help Alfred get things sorted out here."

My mother opened her mouth to protest my decision, but Dad nodded and started to lead her away. "Call us tomorrow," he said.

"I will."

-

I didn't stay at the penthouse, though I did make sure Alfred didn't need my help before I left. I snuck upstairs to the spare bedroom and exchanged my dress and heels for jeans, a t-shirt, and my Converse, grabbed my bag, and then snuck down the stairs to the parking garage; my car was parked there from before the trip to Hong Kong. I drove to the bunker and got plugged in as quickly as I could manage.

"Batman?" I said into the headset, no longer able to control my voice. I sounded every bit as angry, panicked, scared, and shaken as I was. "Bats?"

 _"I'm here, I'm fine,"_ he growled. He was angry and though I was pretty sure he wasn't angry at me, his tone still made something snap inside.

"Don't growl at me—you sound like you swallowed a fucking wrench," I barked. "And you're not fine. You jumped out a fucking window!"

_"I knew what I was doing."_

"Of course you did! You always know what you're doing! Expect when it comes to Rachel, you don't. You didn't even think about jumping out that window. I was there; I saw it. You threw yourself out after her—out a fucking window!" I didn't touch on the subject of him giving up his secret identity to save her. I wasn't ready to go there, I wasn't ready to hear the answer yet. I huffed, rubbed at my eyes with my hand. "Are you okay?" My tone left no question that I was demanding him to tell me.

 _"I am fine,"_ he said again, though he wasn't growling any more than normal now. The authority in his voice was still there. _"Rachel is fine. We'll both probably be bruised, but alive."_

I exhaled a long, shaking breath. It was accompanied by tears. Everything I'd held back at the penthouse just came out all at once, all the energy and fight I'd had left just vanished. I dropped into my chair and doubled over, letting the tears and sobs just come out. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I didn't even try and pull the headset off, though I knew Bruce was still listening and that he wouldn't want to hear me lose control like I was.

 _"Ellie,"_ he said, dropping all but a bit of Batman's growl. He had to still be inside the Tumblr; he wouldn't have used my name outside the vehicle in case someone could have picked it up on the airwaves. The Tumblr's armour made it impossible to pick up any transmissions going on inside. _"Ellie, just breathe."_

It took a few attempts, but I managed to suck in a breath and let it out again. The tears began to slow and after a couple more trembling sobs, I was able to speak again. "Sorry, sorry."

 _"Go home and get some rest, Ellie."_ I was going to protest and it was like Batman knew it. _"Go home,"_ he said again.

I nodded even though he couldn't see me. "Fine. I'll see you in the morning before work."

I yanked the headset off and dropped it on the desk, switching off the relevant machines. I gathered up my things and returned home, driving slow in case I lost control again. Once home, I locked the door, dropped my bag on the floor, kicked off my shoes and shuffled into my bedroom. I didn't even bother undressing or climbing under the covers. I just fell onto bed and tried to sleep.


	23. Funeral

I was up with the sun the next morning, which meant I was already in a bad mood. Late hours with Batman didn't help to make me more of a morning person—not that I'd been one to begin with—and seeing the sun rise was just… not a good way to help that. So I grudgingly showered and changed and made my way to the bunker, driving through the eerily quiet version of Gotham one could only find in the morning hours.

When the lift settled into place at the bottom of the rails, I found Bruce already hard and work. He'd set up a large gun and several containers with bricks in them, all neatly lined up a fair bit away from the gun's muzzle. It didn't take a genius to figure out there was something forensic-y going on, but at the moment, Bruce was more occupied with a newspaper at the main desk. I dropped onto the stool beside him and stared at the side of his head for lack of any witty or sarcastic remarks to throw at him. I was still frustrated about the throwing himself out of a window the night before, and I didn't know what to say. So I didn't say anything.

Instead, I got to my feet again and decided to tackle a problem that may have been better left for a time post-coffee and post-morning grumpiness. I pulled out my cell phone as I dropped my bag into my chair and called Sam.

As expected, he didn't pick up.

"Hi Sam, it's Eleanor. I was just calling to ask you what happened last night when I asked you to get my parents and our friends out of the penthouse and you just kind of disappeared." I was sure there was more than the necessary amount of snark in my voice, but just thinking about Sam running off to save his own skin made me angry at him all over again—I'd barely noticed his absence until about two in the morning, when I'd awoken with a start, boiling with rage. "Give me a call when you get this message."

"Your doctor vanished last night?" Bruce asked as I returned to the desk.

"Yes, and he's not 'my' doctor, whatever the hell you mean by that," I answered with a glare in my voice as well as my eyes. "He probably took off to save his own ass, leaving all those people up in the penthouse at the mercy of the Joker."

"No one was hurt."

I blinked slowly and deliberately a few times. "Oh really?" I reached across the space between us and jabbed him in the ribs with my fingers stiffened into a point. It was a dirty move, meant to hurt him. It was mean, but I didn't apologize when Bruce winced.

"I told you last night that I'm okay—aside from some bruises, but that's to be expected."

"No, you know what's to be expected when you throw yourself out a window? Death! Or maybe paralysation at the least, but not bruises!"

Bruce turned from the newspaper, which I had enough capacity left to realize had a big picture of the mayor on it, under a headline about him dying, and gave me a level look. He didn't say anything, just held my gaze until the anger started to leave my body, a little bit with every breath. He reached over and placed his hand on my knee, gave it a small squeeze. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, exhaling slowly. Bruce was walking and talking and there were no broken bones or any serious injury—he was fine. Rachel was evidently fine, or else Bruce wouldn't have been sitting there in front of me. No one had been killed, despite Sam's failure to get anyone out of the penthouse. It was time to move onto something else.

At least until Sam returned my call.

"What did you find on patrol last night?" I asked, gesturing at the paper and the gun set-up beyond.

Bruce looked at me a moment longer, perhaps looking for some lingering anger or a sign that I was going to yell at him again. Apparently satisfied that that wasn't going to happen, he passed me the newspaper and I discovered that it wasn't the actual paper, but a photograph of the fake story about the mayor. It described his murder at the funeral taking place tomorrow for Commissioner Loeb, who had been murdered by the Joker the night before—the city could really move fast when it wanted to.

"The Joker's going to try and kill Garcia? I assume the police are setting up a perimeter around the parade site."

Bruce nodded. "There are going to be snipers on the roofs lining the street as well, and Gordon's in charge of the security."

I nodded along as he spoke, my eyes scanning the article again. "And the gun?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at the gun rig.

"There was a fragmented bullet found in the wall at the same apartment where the paper was, along with two bodies of a men named Patrick Harvey and Richard Dent. He's got something planned for Harvey and I hoping whatever information I can get off of the bullet fragments will help me figure out what."

I tossed the paper on the desk and got to my feet, stretching my laced fingers up to the ceiling until my back cracked. The idea of a project to keep my mind off of other things sounded like a good idea—it might even wake me up in time for work.

-

The sound of the gun firing was certainly loud enough to wake me up for work that day; my ears were ringing into the next day as well, even though I'd been wearing ear protection. But it hadn't been for nothing. The test had allowed Bruce and Lucius to reconstruct the bullet Bruce had found on patrol and lift a fingerprint detailed enough for comparison. Currently, I was sitting in front of the computer as it ran the fingerprint through every database it could. I'd been down in the bunker for most of the day, keeping tabs on the parade preparations. It was Saturday, so I didn't have to go to the office. I'd fallen into a trance as I watched the prints fly across the screen. It was oddly soothing.

And soothing was something I needed, especially after the conversation I'd had with Sam when he'd returned my message:

"Hello Sam."

_"Eleanor, I got your message."_

"I assumed that's why you were calling. So are you going to tell me why you left without getting anyone out?"

_"I… there wasn't any way for me to get your parents or Sarah or Aaron out."_

"So you just left? You could have taken others with you—you could have at least helped get some people out of danger. There were people in the kitchen when you left! What did you do, just sneak past them and leave them all, standing there, terrified?"

_"What did you want me to do? Get the Joker's attention and get myself shot? Get another guest shot?"_

"You should have tried to get some of them to safety!"

_"No one was hurt—"_

"That isn't the point! The point is that you were more interested in saving your own skin than trying to help others get out of the penthouse."

_"Just because you weren't smart enough to get out why you could—"_

"I didn't want to get out! I wanted to stay and make sure those people were safe; make sure my family and friends were safe!"

_"Any sane person would have tried to get out of there."_

"Not without trying to take others with them. You're a coward, Sam."

And I'd hung up, determined to have the last word. I knew my expectations of Sam were kind of ridiculous, and I knew I'd acted a little childishly, but the simple fact was that I didn't care. I should have liked Sam. He was normal and, despite what I'd said, he seemed like a good man. He was exactly the kind of person who I should have fallen in love with, started a family with. I narrowed my eyes at the computer screen as I thought about the situation with Sam. Maybe he was right; maybe I was a little insane. It wasn't like a normal person went around telling people that she didn't want to get out of a potentially dangerous situation, but I hadn't lied.

I hadn't wanted to get out of the penthouse. I didn't want to get out of the potentially dangerous way that I was living my life.

"Ellie."

I jumped at Bruce's voice since he'd spoken just as my thoughts had begun to turn to him. "What?"

He gave me a curious look; he'd been nearby when I'd had the conversation with Sam. He'd seen the anger and frustration and confusion it had brought out. He'd been oddly sympathetic of it and had left me alone with my thoughts for most of the time since then. Hence letting me sit in front of the computer and watch fingerprints flash across it.

"The funeral starts in fifteen minutes. Alfred's here to stay plugged in."

I turned slightly on the stool so I could smile in greeting at Alfred. Bruce hadn't said it, but with Alfred there, I was free to go home and get the sleep I hadn't managed over the last two nights. It sounded like a wonderful idea and I was close to accepting—maybe I would have if the computer hadn't beeped, signalling it was finished it's scanning. Bruce started moving at the noise, like it was some sort of signal.

"Four possible matches," I read.

"Cross-match them with addresses and look for any near the parade route," Bruce said as he keyed in a sequence on another computer that would raise a section of the wall; the hiss of hydraulics was a tiny sound in the background.

Alfred took a seat beside me and, using the dual keyboards, each of us matched two addresses as Bruce walked a red and white motorcycle out from its hiding place behind the wall. He'd donned a leather jacket and his armed was laced through the visor of a black helmet—he couldn't very well go out as Batman in the daylight, especially when he was trying to be discreet. Regardless of the lack of ears and cape, something in his posture had changed, putting him closer to Batman than Bruce Wayne.

"Got one," Alfred announced just as Bruce got the bike onto the lift. "Melvin White. Convicted for aggravated assault and moved to Arkham twice—1502 Randolph Apartments, just off State—"

"It's overlooking the parade."

I watched the lift rise before I turned back to Alfred and the computers. I unplugged the headset so we could both hear Bruce and the police radio at the same time. Alfred and I didn't speak while we waited to hear from Bruce.

 _"The Joker has Gordon's men tied up in the apartment—otherwise, it's empty,"_ Bruce said, his voice the deep growl of Batman. Since I'd been waiting for him to speak, I wasn't started by it. _"He's got people in their uniforms, lined up with the police in the parade."_

Alfred immediately turned his attention to the police scanners and radios, listening to see if anyone had picked up on there being anything wrong. On the feed from Bruce, I heard bagpipes and knew he was close to a window.

"They haven't realized anything is amiss," Alfred informed us.

_"They won't. The Joker's too good."_

The sharp report of gunshots sounded and I groaned as the feedback echoed through the bunker. "What the hell was that?"

_"A trap—a signal."_

Alfred turned up the radio he'd been fiddling with and suddenly, I didn't need Bruce to tell me what was going on. I heard shots and screams and sounds of chaos. People were screaming a dozen different things, but I could pick out phrases about protecting the mayor, getting him to safety, stopping the Joker from escaping. I could hear cruses in frustration and anger and, above it all, I could hear laughter. I wasn't sure if the Joker was actually laughing, or if I was imagining the sound, but I started to go cold with fear again anyways.

 _"Gordon's down!"_ a particularly panicked voice yelled into the radio, the feed popping and startling me where Bruce's voice hadn't.

"What?"

It hadn't been a question directed at anyone, but Bruce answered anyway. _"The Joker took a shot at the mayor. Gordon leapt in front of the bullet."_ Bruce was pissed. I could hear it in his voice and in the thud of his feet hitting the floor. _"As soon as I cut the cops loose, I'm coming back. I've got to catch him. I've got to stop this."_

"Bruce—"

_"He got away again. The police are in a panic and he escaped."_

When Bruce returned to the bunker, he moved with deliberateness I only saw when he was struggling to keep himself in control. I didn't say anything, just stayed out of his way, but I was scared. Scared of what he might do, of what might happen if he went out like that. Only when he was dressed in the cape and cowl did I decide that I had to do something. I stepped in front of him as he made for the Tumbler and made myself meet his fiery gaze. He returned the stare and I had to set my jaw to keep from shrinking away from the intensity of it. I thought he was going to yell or force me to move, but instead, he closed his eyes and exhaled after a moment of meeting my eyes. His gloved hand came to rest of my shoulder, near the base of my neck.

"Ellie," he started, and I knew I wasn't going to like what he said next. "Please don't listen for a few hours."

Nope. Didn't like it. "What? Why?"

"Just… please."

"Bruce—" I bit of the protest and then nodded, leaning into his hand. "Fine."

I made it two hours before I flicked the switch that would let connect me to Batman. I wish I had waited longer. I wish I had gone home and gone to bed so I wouldn't have had to deal with what I heard, not in addition to everything else that was going on in Gotham and in my life.

 _"He's named Rachel! He's going to go after her next!"_ Dent's voice bellowed. It echoed strangely, like they were in an alleyway or something. _"He's going to kill Rachel!"_

 _"You're the symbol of hope I could never be,"_ Batman said. His voice had dropped some of the growl and I had a seriously inkling I'd missed most of what was a very important conversation. It didn't stop the anger from rising again. _"Your stand against organized crime is the first legitimate ray of hope in Gotham for decades. If anyone saw this, everything would be undone—all the criminals you got off the streets would be released. And Jim Gordon would have died for nothing."_ There was a moment of stunned silence. I wondered what Batman had been talking about; what was Dent doing? _"You're going to call a press conference. Tomorrow morning."_

_"Why?"_

I whispered the question about the same time Dent asked it. Batman wouldn't be able to hear me—I wasn't plugged in—but I always felt it better to whisper anyway. What was Bruce up to?

A thought struck me then and I whispered, "No." That anger began to burn to rage. I had a feeling I knew what was coming.

_"No one else will die because of me. Gotham is in your hands now."_

_"You can't! You can't give in!"_

I couldn't remember a time I'd ever been so angry for so many different reasons, but that conversation—thinking about Bruce giving up Batman—that was the worst. I think Alfred might have tried to speak to me at first, but eventually, he just left me sitting there, eyes bright with rage as I watched the doorway and waited for Bruce ton return to the bunker.


	24. Hell Hath No Fury Like Two Women Scorned

"What the hell are you thinking?!"

The look Bruce gave me was almost enough to stop me from yelling at him—almost. Especially since the look was coming at me from within the cowl. His eyes were dark and there was a tension to his whole body that wasn't normally there when he returned to the bunker. Had he been expecting this? He probably had. He probably knew I wouldn't be able to keep myself away from the headset for long. He stood there and met my fiery gaze and I knew he wasn't going to back off.

Didn't mean I wouldn't try and get something out of him.

"What the hell are you thinking?!" I asked again, putting more force into my voice, letting some of that rage boil over the edge. "What are you doing?!"

Bruce took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a heartbeat. "Eleanor—"

The way he said my name, like this was something he could talk me into supporting, like this was something I just didn't understand yet, infuriated me more. I could feel my ears heating up and my nails biting in my palms as I clenched my fists tighter. "You cannot just stop being Batman! You can't stop now, not when Gotham needs you to get the Joker, he's killing people—"

"Because of me!"

The loud interruption brought me up short, cut off my words. I actually bared my teeth at Bruce, partly out of how stupid I thought he was being and partly at being interrupted. Just because I did it to Bruce all the time doesn't mean I liked it, especially when I was angry, when there was something I wanted, needed to say. "NOT BECAUSE OF YOU!" I roared, taking a step closer to Bruce. I got close enough to jab my finger against the hard armour covering his chest. "He's chosen you to blame because you're exactly what you wanted to be: a symbol. You've set yourself up to protect Gotham, to hand out justice to those who would create chaos and now you're just going to back off?!" I slammed my fist against his chest. "He'd find some other reason to kill if you weren't here and you know it."

Bruce grabbed my wrist and pushed my hand away. He lifted the cowl from his head, wiped away the black marks around his eyes and turned a gaze that still belonged to Batman on me. The look was worse than the one he'd given me as he climbed out of the Tumbler—that one had at least belonged to Bruce Wayne. Bruce was looking at me like I was one of the criminals he had to stop, like I was a threat.

When he took a step closer to me, I actually took a step back.

Which seemed to bring him back.

When I caught his gaze the next time, it was Bruce Wayne I was looking at and though he was still mad at me, I felt relieved; I'd briefly flashed on the pain of his fists on my face. Briefly. Maybe he'd seen that. Maybe he'd been thinking the same thing in that second. Maybe he was afraid it was going to happen again. I watched him reign his anger in, fingers tightening on the cowl that was still in his hands. I wanted to tell him it was all right, but I didn't. I let my anger fill me back up.

"Gotham doesn't need me anymore," he snarled. "The city needs someone they can see, someone they can trust to protect it. They don't need a symbol, they need a public figure."

I found it easy to rally my rage at his words. "Harvey Dent is bound by the law and by his reputation for good. You set yourself up so you weren't bound by the law, so you could do things they couldn't—"

"It was the wrong choice."

"Why? Because it attracted psychos like the Joker? Or your mentor from a couple years ago? The Gotham Police force couldn't stop him and they're not going to be able to stop the Joker, not without you." I advanced again, putting myself even closer and letting all my anger show in my face, in my eyes. "Or is there another reason for this?" I asked, a nasty thought having entered my head. What I was about to say was a low blow, but… It had to be said. "Are you using the Joker's demands to finally let Batman go so you can attempt to have a normal life with Rachel?" My voice had dropped and was icy cold.

But it was nothing compared to the hatred that took over his face in that moment. "This isn't your decision and it doesn't concern you."

He didn't snarl or growl or yell, but the tone in those words scared me, hurt me more than it would of if he had yelled or something. "Fine," I said, alarmed that my voice came out more like a pained gasp, like I'd been punched in the chest and had all the air driven from my lungs. "Fine. Throw away all the good you've achieved, all the credit you've built with the police, with the public. Throw away everything and hope that Harvey Dent can pick up the slack." I turned away from him and made for my bag and slung it onto my shoulder. "But you're making a mistake. Turning yourself in won't stop the Joker. It'll just take away the best defense this city has against his madness."

I gathered up the files I'd been working with for Lucius and tucked them into the crook of my arm. My eyes were beginning to burn with unshed tears, because I was pretty sure this would be the last time I was going to be down in the bunker, provided Bruce went through with his plan—and didn't he always? I wasn't even letting myself think about him saying this wasn't my concern. It hurt too much and I wasn't going to cry in front of him, not then.

"I'm pretty sure this is the stupidest fucking decision you've ever made and I'm not going to stick around to watch you give up when you can do something to help," I said as I started walking. "And, for the record, I know that Gotham still needs Batman. And so do I."

I thought Bruce might have said my name as I left the bunker, but I just kept walking. I didn't look at him until the lift started moving upwards, but I didn't say anything else and I didn't let the tears fall that were threatening to burst forth. I didn't let myself fall apart until I was back in my loft.

It wasn't until that point when I thought that maybe Bruce was afraid that if he kept going against the Joker, he'd push himself too far, that he'd kill someone, that in trying to stop the Joker he would destroy himself and everything he stood for.

I felt like shit after that, but I couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone or go back over there. Not yet, not when I was still so mad at him.

-

I fumed heavily enough that sleep did not come easily. I tossed and turned for most of what was left of the night and was back on my feet when the sun began to rise. I turned the television onto the channel that would air the press conference and left it on while I paced around my apartment in my pajamas, trying to sort through my thoughts. Eventually, I showered and changed and made myself something for breakfast, but didn't eat it. The eggs just sat on the plate as I sat curled into the corner of the couch and started at the TV.

The press conference finally started around nine. It was well-attended, especially for a Sunday morning. I could see handfuls of reporters and cops and men in suits that were probably lawyers. Bruce was somewhere in that crowd, but I didn't spare much energy looking for him, afraid that seeing him would rekindle the rage I'd felt last night and was still boiling away somewhere inside.

The din that had filled the room quieted immediately when Harvey stepped up behind the microphone. He looked almost uncomfortable, something he'd never appeared while speaking to a crowd. Maybe it was the subject he was there to discuss. I watched several emotions play across his face before he opened his mouth and several more when he began speaking. I watched his resolve grow stronger as he defended Batman's actions and I felt a great swell of gratitude towards the man I'd only met once because he understood that giving Batman up wouldn't really accomplish anything and certainly wouldn't placate the Joker.

I watched the crowd rally against Dent's words, against Batman. I watched them call for "no more dead cops" and I felt sympathy for them. One of the cameras briefly panned across the section of the crowd that Bruce was standing in and I saw doubt creeping into his eyes, but I knew he'd still go through with his plan.

 _"So be it,"_ Dent said in a firm tone, cutting off the rising chatter in the crowd. _"Take the Batman into custody."_

I leaned forward on the couch, waiting for the second that Bruce started towards the stage, when the crowd would erupt once more. I waited for him to step onto stage and reveal his deepest secret to the crowd, the city, the world.

But in that heartbeat of a pause, Dent turned to the police officers on stage and said, _"I am the Batman."_

The crowd erupted, cameras flashed, and still I waited for Bruce to show up, to correct the district attorney, to accept the angry and satisfied cheers as his own. But he didn't. The police put Harvey Dent in cuffs and walked him off stage.

As the coverage turned to confused, shocked, and smug reporters, I turned off the TV and cleaned off the plate of untouched eggs. I wasn't really sure why I put on my shoes and grabbed my purse, but the next thing I knew, I was in the car and headed for the penthouse. I was still angry, I was still furious with Bruce for wanting to give up Batman, but I knew something was going to come of this, I knew Bruce was going to want to use this opportunity for whatever it would get him.

Bruce hadn't returned to the penthouse when I arrived however. It was just Alfred and Rachel; I dimly recalled Alfred telling me something about Rachel going to the penthouse for safety from the Joker's thugs after she'd been named the next victim at the funeral.

"How could you let him do this?" she asked as soon as her eyes found me.

I gave a bit of a start at the yell, but found my ground quickly, narrowing my eyes at Rachel. "What makes you think I had anything to do with this?"

"You haven't left Bruce's side since this whole Batman thing started—"

"Bruce went to the press conference with every intention of turning himself in! I didn't even want him to go to the damn thing—if your boyfriend decided to take the blame, that was his call and you can leave me out of it."

The glare Rachel had directed at me only intensified, but she didn't say anything else to me. I knew she was scared and angry and I was convenient to place blame upon, but I was still glad when Alfred intervened. He ushered Rachel towards the door—she'd had her bag with her and had probably been about to leave anyway—allowing me to pass into the living room and out of the line of fire. I leaned against the wall as I listened to the faint noises of Alfred seeing Rachel off.

"I have to admit that I am rather surprised to see you here Ms. Black."

I pulled away from the wall as Alfred entered the room and pushed some of my hair back from my face, giving the butler a quick smile. "I'm surprised that I came back, but… I'm not sitting by while he does whatever he's going to in order to fix this or whatever. I fought for my place here and though I'm still mad, I'm not giving up."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "And hoping that Master Bruce will change his mind doesn't factor into your persistence at all?"

A smile took over my face of its own accord and I had to accept the knowing look from Alfred with a short chuckle. "It's not a foolish hope. I don't think he really wants to give up Batman… at least not for the reasons I accused him of last night." The smile faded and I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, dropping my head slightly. As I did, I caught sight of a small white envelope in Alfred's hands. "What's that?"

"A letter from Ms. Dawes," he said, tucking the missive into his pocket.

"I wasn't going to ask to read it or anything." We shared a small grin and then I asked aloud the question that had been bouncing around since the press conference. "He's not going to turn himself now is he?"

"No, he isn't."

I jumped for the second time since arriving at the penthouse, but this time because of Bruce's sudden appearance in the living room. Alfred and I both turned towards him, the butler leaving his charge and I alone after a brief nod in greeting.

"I'm still mad," I said quietly, forcing myself to look up, to meet his eyes. He looked… a little confused, a little lost.

"So am I."

We held that gaze in silence for almost a full minute before I exhaled. "Damn it," I whispered. "All right—so we're both mad at each other, but you're not giving up Batman right this second and I'm still going to help you, so what's the plan?"

I couldn't be sure because he turned away and started towards the office, but I think Bruce might have smiled.


	25. Joker's Wild

After a brief and tense discussion in the office about what Batman's next move was going to be—Bruce was pretty sure the Joker was going to try something when the GCPD tried to move Dent to Central Holding—I returned home to gather what I'd need and then made for Bat Central, the bunker that would need all the attention I could give it if it was going to be in a state to function properly by the evening's patrol. Or even function at half capacity. Bruce had put everything into the secure rooms behind the wall panels and he hadn't done it with any real order, apparently, since speed had been of import. He'd thought his secret would be out in a few hours, after all.

The thought of that still made me grumble, but I told myself that we were done with that particular incident for now. There was a criminal to stop. I could yell at Bruce after the Joker was behind bars, when the people of Gotham weren't dying.

I turned the lights on in the bunker after the lift clicked into place and stopped for a moment, staring at the emptiness. Somehow, the place seemed smaller without all the desks and computers and the Tumbler taking up space. Unexpectedly, tears sprung into my eyes. It had come so close to being over. I took a deep breath and dropped my bag on the floor by the lift and headed for the largest of the hidden compartments, where the desks would be. No sense wallowing in what might have happened.

Thankfully, Bruce had put the desks on wheels at some point so they were easier to move—still heavy as all get out, but I could move them by myself, and since Bruce was out doing who knew what for at least a couple hours, that was how I had to do it. By the time I had the desks in place and all the power cables hooked up, I was sweating quite a bit and my stomach was growling. I kept going though, until the rest of the equipment I could move was back where it should be and then I dropped into my chair—the last thing I moved into place—and started eating the food I'd shoved into my bag.

When Bruce showed up, he was dressed casually and looked quite surprise to find the bunker as back to normal as it was. "You've been busy," he said.

I nodded and waved my water bottle at him. "Thought it was better to put my energy into this than yelling at you."

He met my gaze, his expression blank. "Thank you." Ignoring the shock that must have passed over my face, Bruce moved over to the main desk and started clicking away on the keyboard, probably checking to make sure I hadn't screwed everything up. "Alfred is going to be down here with you tonight. The more eyes and ears, the better."

I got to my feet and moved to stand beside him, leaning against the desk with my arms crossed. "Sounds good." I looked down at the concrete floor, at my feet which were now back in my flip flops as opposed to my Converse, which I'd worn while moving furniture. "So you're going to tail the police convoy, right?"

"And wait for any sign of the Joker. He's going to try and get his hands on Dent."

"Do you think the Joker really believes that Dent is Batman?"

Bruce stopped typing and turned his head to look at me. After a second, he mirrored my position. I felt myself lean a little towards him. "Does he have a reason to think otherwise?"

I looked up at Bruce and felt my cheeks turn a little red. I wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or something else, but I pushed passed it. "I don't think so, but we've already established that the Joker is unpredictable." An image of the clown laughing cut across my mind and I shuddered involuntarily; I'd been having flashes like that since the video had aired on GCN. It must have been a noticeable movement, because Bruce reached out and wrapped his hand around my shoulder. "I'm fine," I replied automatically, raising one hand as if to ward Bruce's touch off.

"He really scares you."

"He scares you too," I snapped almost accusingly.

We held each other's gaze for a moment, Bruce's hand still on my arm. I hated that there was tension between us again, right when… well, I don't know what had changed, really, but we'd been almost comfortable around one another.

"I'm sorry," I said suddenly. I hadn't wanted to do this now, but maybe it was best. Maybe there wouldn't be a chance to say these things later. "For yelling. About you giving up Batman."

"You don't have to apologize, Ellie." His fingers uncurled and his hand slid down my arm.

"I do, because I didn't understand why you were doing it until after I'd yelled. I'm sorry that I didn't understand." As the words left my mouth, something changed in Bruce's face, like he was pleased or relieved to hear me say that I understood. "I still think Rachel might have been part of it, but I understand that you're… worried about losing control, about going too far to stop the Joker, and I'm sorry that I didn't see that, that I picked the worst reason to focus on." I moved towards him a little bit, curling my arms around me tighter. His hand closed about my bicep, almost drawing me closer still. "I'm still mad that you wanting to give up Batman."

A flicker of a smile crossed Bruce's face, intensifying the relief or whatever I'd seen a moment before. He squeezed my arm. "I know. I… understand why."

I smiled up at Bruce then, a real smile, and closed my hand over his. "Good."

-

The Joker did attack the police convoy, but it wasn't surprising that Bruce had been right. The Joker was unpredictable, except when it came to causing chaos and attacking that convoy… well, it was chaotic to say the least.

The call had come through about an hour after he started patrol: a roadblock on the transfer route, one bad enough to drive them down onto Lower 5th Avenue, a street blocked from the overhead view of the helicopters. Batman headed for the route immediately, but there was no way he would reach it before the attack began.

Alfred and I were tuned into the police band, listening to the chatter as a garbage truck began to sweep police cars off the route, out of the convoy. Someone called for backup and a cacophony of shots rang out, harsh over the headset. The Joker was attacking the armoured car that Dent was in, and by the increased gunfire after a moment of silence, he was going to up his fire power until he could break through the side of the vehicle, or cause it to stop. There was a terrifying explosion, but by all reports on the police band, Dent was still safe.

It was hard to listen to all that, and I was glad when I heard the beep that meant Batman was signalling Alfred and I from the Tumbler. I switched the channel on the headset. "What's going on down there?" I asked, alarmed to hear that my voice was a little strained. It matched the frantic heartbeat in my ears.

_"Exactly what I expected, though the RPG was a surprise."_

"An RPG? Shit." I shared a look with Alfred, who I knew was worried as least as much as I was. A high-pitched whining noise suddenly cut through the cacophony of noise still pouring through the headset. "What the hell was that?"

There was an explosion, too close to be anything but the Tumbler exploding.

"Batman?"

The longest minute of my life passed with no answer. I was just about to call out for him again when I heard him clear his throat.

_"I had to eject the Batpod."_

I exhaled loudly. "Don't scare me like that," I said, managing to inject some laughter into my voice. I didn't know much about the bizarre motorcycle, but I knew Lucius and Bruce had designed it to replace the front axle of the Batmobile and to eject when the larger vehicle was no longer of use, unfolding into its full shape. "Did it work the way it was supposed to?" Asking questions gave me a minute to bring my heart rate back to normal, to get rid of the fear that Bruce was lying dead in the middle of the street.

_"Yes."_

"Good."

The minute to calm myself down hadn't done what it was supposed to. I shot Alfred a look before I pulled the headset off and walked away from the desk. When I couldn't hear what was going on anymore, I doubled over, hands on my knees and head hung low. I sucked in a deep breath and let it out as slowly as I could manage. I'd listened to explosions and gunshots over the headset before, known that Bruce was in mortal danger, but combined with the images of the Joker I kept seeing, the sound of his laugh that kept echoing through my head, it was too much. My heartbeat didn't slow, my breathing didn't even out.

So, when I returned to the desk and put the headset back on at Alfred's urging, and when I heard Gordon's voice over the laughter of the Joker, I started to cry. I didn't know him, and I didn't know why he'd faked his death, but I was beyond glad to hear him, to know that Bruce's ally was okay, that another of the symbols for justice and order in the city was back in place. Somehow, it seemed that stopping the Joker would be easier with Gordon alive and well… maybe that was the panic talking.

After a chorus of noises that sounded like shifting bodies, Batman's voice growled into the conversation and I sighed in relief again, the tears coming a little more readily now.

_"Where are you taking him?"_

_"To MCU,"_ Gordon answered. _"I'll interrogate him after he's had time to sit a while. I want to go home to my family."_

Batman made some noncommittal noise. After a moment he said in a quieter voice that meant he was talking to me, _"Keep an ear on the police band. If anything changes, let me know. I want to be there for that interrogation. Something feels off."_

"Okay," I managed.

When Batman returned to the bunker a little while later, I was sitting in the chair with my knees pulled up to my chest and what Alfred called a far-away look on my face. I watched the Batpod skid sideways and stop in the place where the Tumbler normally parked and I got to my feet when Batman climbed off the bike. Bruce had the cowl off when I reached him and was ready for the hug I'd decided I wasn't going to hold back. That day alone I'd thought I'd lost Bruce twice for different reasons and I'd been madder at him than ever before. But he was alive, the Joker was behind bars, and Gordon wasn't dead. And I was exhausted. So I was going to let my emotions through.

Bruce returned the embrace, his arms around my waist and almost lifting me from the floor.

After a moment where I could feel Alfred's eyes on us, Bruce gently disengaged from me and headed for the cabinet where the Batsuit was kept. He didn't get beyond removing his gloves when the phone he kept on his belt rang. His face darkened as he spoke in short sentences. I didn't need to be told he was going out again.

-

Apparently Harvey Dent hadn't made it home after the police had uncuffed him—clearly he wasn't Batman—and put him in a squad car. Gordon had gone back to the Major Crimes Unit and was now in interrogation with the Joker. He'd asked the Joker where Harvey was, but the criminal didn't seem keen on giving straight answers. Everyone so far had been an evasion, a game.

 _"If we're going to play games,"_ Gordon said around a sigh, _"I'm going to need a cup of coffee."_

This was where he was going to let Batman in to try and get information from the Joker. I'd been focusing on the actions and words of Batman and Gordon because I was too scared to think about the Joker or pay attention to what he was saying. As much as I tried to not hear his voice, I'd heard him say something about Harvey being in one place or several, depending on the time.

And that scared me more.

When I tuned back into the interrogation, Batman growled, _"Where is Dent?"_

_"Those mob fools want you gone so they can get back to the way things were. But I know the truth—there is no going back. You've changed things. Forever."_

He was goading Batman, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

_"Then why do you want to kill me?"_

_"Kill you? Why would I want to kill you? What would I do without you? Go back to ripping of drug dealers?"_ The Joker snorted. He still sounded so calm… _"I don't want to kill you. You… you complete me."_

Batman growled again, the noise oddly echoing my shudder. _"You're garbage who kills for money."_

_"Don't talk to me like one of them. You're not, even if you'd like to be. To them, you're just a freak. Like me."_

_"Tell me where Dent is,"_ Batman demanded.

I tuned out again, my exhausted and the fear and repulsion that rose when thinking about or hearing the Joker pushing my mind farther away. Alfred was sitting beside me and he looked more awake, but not by much. I rubbed my hands hard across my face, trying to bring my mind back to the land of the waking, but I needn't have bothered. The Joker's next words would have snapped me right back.

 _"You'll have to play my little game,"_ he sneered. _"If you want to save one of them."_

 _"Them,"_ Batman said at the same time I mouthed the word to Alfred, who looked just as confused as I felt.

_"For a while I thought you really were Dent... the way you threw yourself after her."_

Now I was up. "Rachel," I breathed.

Screaming metal erupted over the headset. I heard muffled shouts and the cracking of glass. What the hell was happening?

 _"Where are they?!"_ Batman roared.

Suddenly the exhaustion was gone from my body. I was wide awake, sitting up straight.

 _"You choose one life over the other. Your friend or the woman…"_ The Joker laughed and I heard glass crack again. Was Batman slamming him against the mirror? _"Don't worry. I'm going to tell you where they are. That's the point. You'll have to choose."_ The Joker cackled softly and my fear turned to hatred. _"He's at 250 52nd Street and she's... on Avenue X at Cicero."_

I knew without asking who Bruce was going after. It pained me, but my feelings didn't matter at the moment. Rachel and Harvey's lives were on the line. I grabbed for the keyboard and keyed in the sequence that would connect me to the Batpod's computer. I brought up the three fastest routes from MCU to the address where Rachel was being kept. I heard the bike roar to life, but I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. I was scared and there were tears in my eyes again, but I wasn't going to step away from that headset, not this time.


	26. A Few Barrels Changes Everything

The only thing I could hear over the headset was the deep roar of the Batpod's engine. Batman hadn't said anything since taking off from the police station moment before, and I'd given up trying to get him to talk. I hadn't really expected him to say anything, but I wished he would. I wished he would say anything about what he was thinking or fearing or… just anything. I could barely even hear him breathing and standing there in the silence was killing me and letting my imagination run wild.

I was scared for him and Rachel and Dent and the police officers running to Dent's rescue. I was scared for what was going to happen when they arrived. I was scared because the Joker always had a grand plan and it couldn't be this easy—the Joker wouldn't just give up their locations, not when he knew there were people to head to both spots. There wasn't a choice to be made except for who would save who, so something else was going to happen. I wasn't going to mention that to Batman though. He would have thought about it already anyway. Just like he would have thought about what dangers could be awaiting him at wherever Rachel was being held.

Just like he would know that Rachel might already be dead.

I shook the thought from my head. I may not have liked Rachel very much, but if she died, something in Bruce would break, something I wasn't sure he'd ever fully recover from. I shook my head again and went looking for something else to think about. In an effort to keep my brain out of the dark places it tended to go to when I was tense, I looked down at Alfred, who was sitting at the desk beside me, eyes firmly rooted to the computer screen in front of him.

"Alfred, how do you stay so calm?" I asked, knowing he wasn't very calm at all.

"Years of practice, Ms. Black." He turned his face up and flashed a weak smile at me. "If you stick around long enough, I'm sure you'll pick up some tricks."

"Hopefully I have the chance," I muttered, returning the weak smile.

I opened my mouth to say something else, just as the engine of the Batpod shut off, the abrupt silence ringing in my ears. My attention snapped back to the audio feed, listening intently, waiting for a command, request, anything. Doors banged, boots hit stairs, and a ragged scream came over the headset. I winced when I heard the voice belonging to that scream.

_"NO! No, not me!"_

_"It's Dent,"_ Batman growled and in those two words I could hear disappointment, anger, frustration, grief. I could see the scowl on his face and the set to his jaw. _"He's wired to oil drums and a timer."_

I sighed, closed my eyes. "Is Rachel there?" I put hope into my voice, hope I didn't really have.

_"No."_

I fell silent and then dropped back onto my stool, my body suddenly too much weight to hold upright. My shoulders fell. I couldn't find any words—was there anything that could be said? I listened numbly as Batman struggled to get Harvey out of the building and out of danger and I wondered if Gordon had gotten to Rachel in time. She would no doubt have been wired up like Harvey, waiting for rescue. I didn't like Rachel, but I didn't want her dead, murdered by some madman. I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to put my forehead on the desk, fought to urge to tell Batman I was sorry for something I had no control over.

 _"No, no, no,"_ Dent was saying. _"You weren't supposed to save me!"_

I heard a noise that may very well have been Batman grinding his teeth as he refused to answer. I thought he was about to say something, but then there was an explosion and a shriek, turning everything into static.

I was on my butt on the concrete floor and I didn't remember getting there. My cheeks were wet and my ears were buzzing and the headset was dangling from its cord in front of me. My chest was tight, my palms stung. Alfred was standing, leaning on the desk and saying something repeatedly into the headset; I thought he might be yelling, but I couldn't hear anything beyond the drone in my ears, the constant note echoing through my brain. As I watched, he seemed to get whatever he was after and he settled back onto his stool for just a second before he realized I was on the floor. He knelt beside me, his mouth moving.

"Ms. Black?"

About the fourth or fifth time he called my name, his voice made it through. "What happened?" I asked, surprised to find my voice rough and my throat a little dry, as if I had screamed or inhaled smoke from the explosion. Maybe it had been me who screamed.

"The buildings where Mr. Dent and Ms. Dawes were being kept exploded. Dent was severely burned and is being rushed to the hospital, and Master Bruce went to see if Ms. Dawes survived." Alfred's face fell as the last words left his mouth. He didn't need to voice the words for me to know that it didn't look good.

"I didn't faint did I?"

The ghost of a smile appeared on Alfred's lips. "No. You just sort of fell when you screamed. Are you all right?"

I waved his hand away. "Nothing Advil won't cure." The roughness had left my voice and now it just sounded sort of hollow. "We should head back to the penthouse," I said. "It's got to be getting close to dawn. Bruce won't have the time to get all the way to this side of town before the sun's up."

I pushed myself to my feet and decided that focusing on one thing at a time, one step at a time, would be the best idea. Get up: done. Get things together: working on it. Get to penthouse: as soon as possible.

Images of smoke and fire and blood and death entered my mind as I started moving, and wouldn't leave. I kept hearing a shriek—mine or an imagined one of Rachel's?—and the static on the headset. Alfred had said Bruce was going on to check if Rachel had survived, so he was alive. Dent was alive, though burned. I wondered if any of the cops were injured. If Gordon was all right. I wondered if any civilians had been hurt.

"Ms. Black, are you sure you wouldn't rather stay here?"

"No," I said as I started gathering up my things, still trying to clear my head. "I don't want to be here right now. I want… I want to be there when Bruce shows up." I closed my eyes. "Regardless of what he finds. I want to be there, I have… have to be there."

The high-pitched buzzing that had followed the explosion returned quite suddenly and I dropped heavily into the chair, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing my hands over my eyes. The images of fire and smoke turned into visions of Batman being blow backwards as Dent was engulfed in flames on the ground; I could imagine the smell of burning flesh mingled with diesel and burning wood and brick and dust. Visions of Rachel burning alive as she screamed for Bruce. The Joker laughing.

"Are you all right?" Alfred's hand on my shoulder was a comfort.

I shook my head. "I'll be fine," I told Alfred as the drone subsided. I wiped my cheeks one final time and got to my feet to finish gathering my things. I was unsteady and shaking, but I managed a small smile. "You head to the penthouse. I'll meet you there."

"As you wish."

-

As the elevator ascended towards the penthouse, I began to feel heavy again. I needed caffeine, and I had a nagging feeling in my gut that told me I wasn't going to find good news at the top of the building. I was exhausted, scared, and sad. For the first time since Bruce had moved into the penthouse, I didn't want to be there, I didn't want to have to deal with what was waiting in the apartment. I just wanted to go home and curl up in bed with the blankets over my head. It was a selfish thought and one I pushed aside, but it still lingered. I stood in the back corner of the elevator and tried to prepare myself.

I had taken all of three steps into the penthouse when Alfred appeared from the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a tea towel, like he'd been fidgeting with it. "Eleanor." It was the use of my first name that caught my attention, but it was the tone that told me everything I needed to know.

Rachel hadn't survived.

The unstable feeling from the bunker returned with added nausea. "Where is he?" I gasped.

"Upstairs."

I nodded my thanks and started walking, steadily and slow. There were no tears now, but my jaw was set and my hands balled into fists at my sides as I climbed the stairs.

He was sitting in one of the black chairs in the corner of the upper floor, facing the television but looking out the window, his face reflecting the bluish tinge the dawn had brought to Gotham. The plates of armour that made up the cowl and gloves were scattered on the floor behind the chair as if he'd pulled them off as he'd approached it, as if there wasn't even enough left in him to change; the cowl was a little farther away, as if it had been kicked or tossed. I paused at the beginning of the trail and took a deep breath, chewed my bottom lip. Carefully, I stepped over the scattered bits of armour and stopped beside the chair, close enough to reach out and touch Bruce's arm. His face was tight with the emotions he was holding back, but both his hands were balled into fists, the skin mottled red and white. He radiated grief and anger. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

I wanted to throw my arms around him and hold him close, but I didn't touch him.

I wanted to tell him I was sorry and that I would be there for him, but I didn't know what to say.

My breath caught in my throat when Bruce looked up at me and I saw the grief in his eyes. I did reach out and touch him then, my fingertips dusting across the surface of his armour as tears burned at the back of my eyes, tears I didn't let fall. I loved him and he was hurting and I didn't know what to say or do—I couldn't say or do anything except stand there and meet his broken gaze and try not to cry.

He looked back down after a few heartbeats and closed his eyes. I moved in front of the chair and reached forward, tentatively at first. When he didn't tell me to leave or stop or anything, I cupped his cheek with my hand.

"I'm so sorry she died, Bruce," I whispered, my voice breaking on the words. He opened his eyes again and I knelt so it was easier to make eye contact. "I'm so sorry." The first tear ran down my face when he reached up and covered my hand with his, when he wrapped his fingers around mine. A small sob escaped when I saw wet trails on his cheeks. "Whatever you need from me," I managed.

"Just… sit with me."

I nodded and pulled my hand free so I could move the other chair close and sit more comfortably. Bruce extended his hand and I took it, lacing my fingers through his. He tightened his grip almost to the point of pain, but I didn't say anything, just ran my thumb back and forth over the back of his hand. We lapsed into silence as my tears stopped, and watched the sun rise over Gotham, light that seemed somehow wrong after the tragedy of last night.

When Alfred brought in a tray of breakfast for Bruce, I used the opportunity to dart to the bathroom to wash my face. As I returned to the living room, I heard Bruce speaking and I stopped, not wanting to interrupt. I meant to turn around and walk into the kitchen, but what Bruce said next kept me standing just outside the doorway.

"Did I do this to her, Alfred?" he asked, his voice weak and almost shaking. "Did I bring this on her? I thought I would inspire good—"

"You have inspired good, but you spat in the face of Gotham's criminals. Did you think there wouldn't be causalities? Things were always going to have to get worse before they got better, you knew that."

"But Rachel, Alfred. Rachel. And who's next? You? Eleanor?"

I leaned heavier on the wall, dropped my head against the wall.

"Rachel believed in what you stood for. What we stand for." I saw Alfred crouch to pick up the cowl and I met his gaze for a second. He gave me a small smile and I entered the room, taking the cowl from him when he extended it. "He needs to hear support from you," he whispered.

I nodded and approached the chair again. "Gotham needs you."

Bruce looked up when I spoke and there was something in his eyes that made my chest tighten. "Gotham needs its true hero, the one they can see, and I let the Joker burn him half to hell—"

I handed him the cowl and knelt beside the chair. "You didn't let him do anything. You tried to stop him. I know you're going to think it's your fault regardless of what I say, I know you're going to blame yourself for… for Rachel's death—"

Bruce stood up quite suddenly and I pushed myself to my feet to avoid being knocked over. "Because it is my fault!"

I moved to stand in front of him, picking up the cowl from where it had fallen as I moved, and put my hands on his chest, stopping his angry march before it could start. I did my best to stare him down while I pressed the cowl into his chest. "It's not your fault," I said, my voice coming out more like a growl or something. "It doesn't matter what I say, I know that, but you need to listen to me anyway, because Gotham needs you! Gotham needs someone to stop the Joker and maybe you don't want to, maybe you don't think you can anymore, but you have to try." I pushed the cowl harder against his chest. I felt some of the tension ease from Bruce's body. He reached up and wrapped his hands around mine. "You may feel, no, I know you feel like nothing makes sense and maybe… maybe the point in fighting, maybe it seems fuzzy, but Bruce…"

He put his forehead against mine, cutting me off. "I know. I know."

My eyes went a little wide. I couldn't believe I'd talked him down. I wrapped my arms around him and he returned the hug, the cowl clasped in one hand, one of the ears poking into my back.


	27. Chaos

The last I'd heard of Coleman Reese, he'd been digging through Archives and I'd had to make sure he didn't get his lawyer hands on anything important, on anything that would reveal details about the continued existence of Applied Sciences. I'd been successful enough, because Lucius hadn't said anything else to me about the man—or so I'd thought.

When I returned to the penthouse after work, I went immediately to the spare bedroom to catch a few hours of sleep before heading to the bunker. I pulled my phone out of bag to set the alarm and found an e-mail waiting for me from Lucius Fox, an e-mail marked urgent. I almost didn't open it, thinking it had something to do with work that I could attend to in a few hours, or even tomorrow, but I changed my mind and brought the screen up. Even before I'd started reading, I knew it must have been urgent because it wasn't formatted at all. Just streams of text.

_Eleanor, Mr. Reese came to me a few days ago demanding money in exchange for him keeping the secret of Batman's identity. He stumbled upon the original blueprints for the Tumbler and made the connection. I thought I steered him away from his investigation, but he's gone to Gotham Cable News. They're doing a special report this evening, giving Batman a chance to come forward and reveal himself again._

I read the e-mail twice before I ran back to the living room, passing Alfred on the way. I tossed him my phone, the e-mail still on the screen so he could read, but I kept moving. Bruce was sitting in the chair still, but he'd changed from the Batsuit to a charcoal grey suit at some point after I'd left—it hadn't even occurred to me that he'd be going about life as normal, but I guess it should have. He could have even been at Wayne Enterprises, but I'd been so busy playing catch-up with my paperwork that I wouldn't have noticed. He looked at me when I grabbed the remote, but his attention was drawn to the television as soon as it flickered to life, displaying Coleman Reese sitting next to Mike Engle. The lawyer looked nervous, his hands clutched tightly around a folder in his lap, but there was something in his eyes that suggested he thought he was doing the right thing. It was impossible to tell what Engle was thinking, as his reporter's mask was firmly in place.

_"He's a credible source—an M &A lawyer from a prestigious consultancy. He says he's waited as long as he can for Batman to do the right thing, and now he's taking matters into his own hands. We'll be live at five with the true identity of Batman."_

I perched on the armrest of the chair, the remote still clutched in one hand. "The bastard managed to find original blueprints of the Tumbler. Made the connection," I said when the commercial break started. "I have no idea where he would have even had to look for those. I thought I'd got them all. I'm—"

Bruce put his hand on my arm, effectively shutting me up. "It's not your fault." He pushed himself to his feet and looked down at me. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the commercial break ended then.

 _"We'll be taking calls for the next half-hour,"_ Engle said, looking at the camera.

Bruce and I both turned to face the television as the callers began to ask their questions of Reese: did he think he knew better than Dent, who didn't want Batman to turn himself in? Was he getting paid to do this? Was this all a set up? I clenched my jaw in frustration and I found that I wanted to call in, to ask Reese who the hell he thought he was. I knew that would be a notoriously bad idea because he might recognize my voice and then who knew what would happen.

When the next caller's voice came over the line, fear chilled all thoughts of anger from my bones. It was just an old lady, but something… something sent shivers up and down my spine. It clicked a second later—it was the Joker. I looked to Bruce and found his eyes already on me. He'd already figured out who belonged to the voice.

_"Mr. Reese, what's more valuable: one life or a hundred?"_

_"I guess it would depend on the life,"_ Reese managed after a moment. His voice was a little weak, his face pale.

_"Okay, let's say it was your life. Is your life worth a hundred? More?"_

_"No, of course it isn't."_

_"I'm glad you feel that way, because I've put a bomb in one of the city's hospitals and it's set to go off in sixty minutes unless someone kills you."_

Engle leaned forward a little bit, his brow furrowed. _"Who is this?"_

 _"Just a regular citizen,"_ the Joker said, his voice dropping to its normal timbre, the shivers crawling up and down my spine and my stomach clenching with fear as I remembered the look of him, the sound of his voice in real life. _"Just a regular guy."_

I turned my back on the television and wrapped my arms around myself as the Joker continued speaking—something about his vision for Gotham. I just couldn't listen to it anymore. Bruce put his hand on my arm, near the bend of my elbow and squeezed. He was still watching the TV, but he moved a little closer to me, his shoulder bumping against mine. I was thinking about my parents, at work at Gotham General Hospital. I was thinking of Harvey Dent, taken to the same hospital to have his burns treated.

"Get down to the bunker and check hospital admissions for anyone on Gordon's team," he said. "Call your parents, but don't tell them what's going on."

I nodded and dropped my head against his shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid while trying to save Reese. He's not worth it."

Bruce put his other hand on the back of my head. He didn't say anything, but he knew what I was talking about, he knew I was worried the grief from Rachel's death would make him careless. I felt his fingers flex against my head and then I straightened and headed for the elevator.

-

 _"O'Brian and Richards are there,"_ Bruce said.

His voice sounded weird coming through the computer in the Lamborghini instead of the cowl, but it was still daylight. He couldn't exactly go running around as Batman. Me and Alfred were down in Bat Central, sitting at opposite ends of the main computer bank, searching through hospital admission records and the personnel files of the GCPD respectively.

"Those two are clear," I announced after getting the signal from Alfred.

_"They've got Reese in a police SUV and they're headed north. I saw Burns and Zachary as well, and one patrolman I don't know."_

I gestured to Alfred to get the info on Burns and Zachary and I'd try and figure out who the other patrolman was. I knew Gordon's entire unit in the Major Crimes Unit by name, and several other officers by face. There was also a list of the units that had responded to Gordon's initial call. It took me about three minutes to find and send several pictures of officers I didn't know who'd responded to Bruce.

_"The third picture you sent is the officer."_

"Name's Berg—"

_"Just send the information to Gordon, Ellie."_

"All right, all right." I brought up the anonymous texting program on the computer and sent a message to Gordon that said Berg—wife in hospital. I didn't worry about whether or not Gordon would understand the message. I knew he would. "Message sent."

_"Good—"_

There was a squeal of tires and then the crunching of metal and fibreglass. A dull thud signalled the release of the airbags.

"Bruce? Bruce? What the hell happened?" There was no answer, but with the car crashed, it wasn't surprising the computer didn't work. I turned to my cell phone sitting on the desk and as if on cue, it rang, Bruce's picture showing up on the screen. "What the fuck was that?!" I said as soon as I swiped my thumb across the answer button.

_"I'm fine. So is Reese."_

"I don't care about Reese! What did you do?"

_"Someone in a pickup truck tried to ram the police SUV."_

"So you decided jumping in front of him was a good idea? Idiot." I could have sworn I heard a bit of a chuckle over the phone, but that may have just been Alfred sitting to my right. "What's the next step?"

_"The hour is almost up. Did you get a hold of you parents?"_

I sighed, my mind back on what had caused the chaos around Reese in the first place. "I did. They're not leaving. I told them to be careful with Harvey Dent at the hospital. My Mom waved it off, but Dad… he seemed to get that there was something I wasn't saying. He said he'd call me later." I shook the emotion from my voice, cleared my throat. "Do you want Alfred to come pick you up?"

_"Yes."_

Knowing that was the end of the conversation, I hung up the phone and placed the cell where I could see it easily to know when my Dad called. I looked at Alfred and nodded and he left the bunker quickly, knowing there probably wasn't time before things unravelled completely and that Bruce would want to be out in the city when they did. The Joker was making his move now—that much was evident.

As if to emphasize my thought, the report that there had been explosions at Gotham General came over the band. My entire body went rigid and while my ears were still on the radio, my eyes were on my phone, waiting for the screen to light up, to show my Dad's picture, to tell me he was calling. I didn't even hear it when the lift dropped back into place, or when Bruce and Alfred walked up to the desk. I didn't react until Bruce placed his hand on my shoulder. I jumped and looked up at Bruce.

"What is it?" I asked, noticing the look on his face.

He nodded his head to where Alfred had turned on the television. "The news."

It was Mike Engle on the screen again, though this time, his face was painted with garish makeup and he was tied up, sitting in what looked like the aisle of a school bus. He was reading from something in front of him and I could hear the Joker's bone-chilling laugh again; twice in one day was too much. Since Bruce was already worked up over the news, I was guessing what I was watching was a replay.

 _"Come nightfall, the city is mine,"_ Engle was reading. _"Anyone left inside plays by my rules. If you don't want to be a part of the game, get out now, but the bridge and tunnel crowds… will be in for a surprise."_

Silence fell when Alfred turned off the TV. I stood there, chewing my bottom lip.

When my phone rang, I jumped. It wasn't my Dad though. It was Sarah. "Hi Sarah," I said, hoping my voice wasn't too tense.

_"Eleanor! Oh God, did you see the news? Aaron and I are holed up at his place, hoping we'll be safe—"_

"Good. That's a good idea. Stay there until you know it's safe."

_"What are you talking about? What are you going to do?"_

I looked at Bruce, who gave me nothing, no hint about where he'd want me during this, although I had a sneaking suspicion he was going to tell me to leave Gotham, or try to anyways. Or stay in Bat Central, hidden and secure. "I'll be fine, Sarah. Don't worry about me." And I hung up before she could ask any more questions. "Where do you need me for this?" I asked Bruce.

"I want you to stay here, where you'll be safe."

"No. I want to be somewhere I can be of more active assistance."

Bruce and I stared at each other intently for a few seconds, each trying to get the other to back down. Eventually Bruce sighed. "Ellie," he said, moving closer. "I just lost Rachel to this madman. I don't want to lose you as well." His voice was just a whisper, but I felt the impact like he'd yelled at me.

I struggled to find the words to reply to that, to tell him how much hearing that meant to me, but instead I was hit with an idea. "That project you were thinking about, based on the phone Lucius made… the sonar project—did that ever get made?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll help Lucius. Applied Sciences is underground like the bunker. I'll be safe there and I won't be going mad because I'll feel like I'm actually doing something."

Bruce looked like he was going to protest, but he nodded. "Fine. Get your things ready."

"Bruce?" I asked as he turned towards the Batsuit. When he looked at me, I made my face serious. "I'm not going anywhere."

I got a small smile in response, but that was it.


	28. Sonar Like a B... Submarine

I had ridden a motorcycle for a while when I was in college, so Bruce's crash course served more as a refresher, though it didn't make me feel any less nervous about driving through a city gone mad with panic. Or any less afraid of the Joker and what he had planned.

My Dad called towards the end of Bruce's hurried instructions to tell me that he and Mom had gotten out of the hospital and that they were fine, though Mom had broken her wrist in a fall when one of the explosions had gone off a little too close. They'd gone to my loft and where holed up inside, watching the panic on the news. Mom had wanted to know when I'd be coming home, and thankfully Dad had taken over the conversation from there, assuring her that I was capable of taking care of myself and would be fine, regardless of where I was.

Bruce finished pulling on the Batsuit while I was on the phone and stood beside the Batpod, watching while I zipped up my sweater and pulled my hair back into a ponytail at the base of my skull so it would fit under the helmet.

"Are you sure about this?" Bruce asked, his tone letting me know that this would be the one and only chance he'd give me to back out.

Since I'd had to make him let me do something other than sit in the bunker and panic, I rolled my eyes and raised my eyebrows at him, though I did appreciate the gesture. I was doing my best to appear calm, but perhaps Bruce could see the fear anyway. Or maybe he just knew it was there. Regardless, I gave him a small smile as I grabbed the helmet off the handle of the red and white motorcycle and said, "I'm sure."

We shared a brief look before I pulled the helmet on. Bruce exchanged some words with Alfred and then the Batpod roared to life. I straddled the bike and turned the key in the ignition, swallowing hard as a hard lump of fear appeared in my throat with the sound of the engine and of my breath inside the helmet. Batman took off up the ramp leading out of the bunker and I followed a second later, keen to leave some distance between the vehicles.

The route we took to Wayne Enterprises was as direct as we could make it without taking the main streets, all of which were clogged with people trying to get out of the city, despite Joker's warnings. The air in the city was tense and more than once I heard screaming, even above the rest of the noise in the city. I managed to keep up with Batman pretty well, but by the time we arrived at Wayne Enterprises, I was wound tight and I could feel that my eyes were wide with adrenaline.

"This is done tonight, right?" I asked as we made our way down to Research and Development—it wasn't the underground bunker of Applied Sciences after all, but as it was only two floors above Applied Sciences, it was still underground and therefore, safe. I shook my arms and rolled my shoulders as we moved down the dimly lit staircase, trying to rid myself of some of the energy bouncing around inside.

"Yes."

I nodded, though strangely, I didn't feel a whole lot better.

The room was dark when we entered, save for a bluish glow coming from the bizarre array of screens positioned near one of the workstations. I approached it, my mouth slightly agape. It was oddly beautiful and eerie at the same time. I stood in front of it and watched the images flutter across the screen; it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the blue and white depiction of Gotham, but once I figured it out, it was easy enough to make out the details.

"This is brilliant," I whispered, though I was slightly horrified. "You took Lucius's sonar device and… applied it to all of Gotham?"

Batman heard the fear in my voice. "I have to catch him."

I looked at Batman, who was standing behind the machine, visible between the two halves on the monitor array. "I know," I said. "But this…"

I fell silent as Batman caught my eyes. It was very much Bruce looking at me from under that cowl and I could see the desperation, the rage that was driving him. I moved behind the machine to stand in front of him, placed on hand on his chest, over the bat symbol. Before I could open my mouth to say anything though, to reassure Bruce that he'd stop the madman, the lights turned on and Lucius entered the room. I turned to face him, and it occurred to me how dramatic an entrance it was.

"What… What have you done?" Lucius asked as he approached the sonar machine. He didn't look as astonished as I had. He looked horrified. "This is unethical. Terrible."

"It's my only chance. I have to find him, and this is the only way I can keep an eye on the entire city at the same time."

"This is a massive invasion of privacy—I won't spy on the city for you."

"Lucius, I have to stop him before more people die."

Lucius sighed heavily, and I could see the muscles and neck and jaw. I'd never seen him so angry. I almost wanted to say something, but I kept my mouth shut and hoped this didn't escalate, not with both the men on edge.

"I'll do this for you," Lucius said after a few long seconds of silence. "I'll help you stop him, but that's it. As long as this machine is at Wayne Enterprises, I won't be."

"What? But—"

Batman kept speaking as if the words hadn't come from my mouth. I huffed, but didn't push. "When this is done, when I've stopped him, type in your name."

The oddity of the command left both Lucius and I speechless while Batman made a switch exist, his cape snapping as he left the room. Lucius turned to me when we were alone and raised his eyebrows. Despite everything boiling about inside me, I laughed.

-

 _"There's something going on at the ferries."_ Batman had rigged the machine so it was connected to the communication devices in the cowl, and since there was no headset, his voice echoed weirdly around Research and Development.

Lucius, who better understood how to navigate the machine since it was based on his original design, zoomed in on the harbour, where two large boats were visible a short distance away from the docks. They weren't moving. Joker's voice suddenly filled the room; I didn't know what Lucius had done, but I wanted it gone. Apparently sensing my discomfort—it wasn't like I was hiding it very well—Lucius switched off the voice feed.

"His voice is coming from the ferries, but that's not the source," Lucius said.

_"Do you have a location?"_

"Working on it," I interjected, shaking my head. The image on the half of the screens in front of me changed as I followed the Joker's broadcast—he was talking about killing everyone on those ferries, blowing them all up if one boat didn't do so to the other. "I've got it—go west from the docks. Prewitt building, the one that's under construction by the river."

_"Got it. Any sign of Dent or the other hostages from the hospital?"_

I spread the image over the full bank of monitors and zoomed around the building; Lucius and I both leaned a little closer, examining the screens. "Yes. The hostages are there."

_"See if you can find where the Joker is."_

"Will do, though with his issues, I'm guessing he'll be at the top of the building somewhere," I answered.

_"I'm going after him. Any sign of Gordon?"_

"The parking garage next to the Prewitt building," Lucius said.

_"Okay."_

"We'll be watching."

Lucius realigned the screens so we could see the police and the parking garage and the Prewitt building as well. There were snipers lined up along the edge of the roof—probably both GCPD and SWAT officers—and Gordon stood at the centre of them all with binoculars pressed to his face. With a flourish of his cape, Batman joined the picture and we could hear what was going on.

The police had identified that there were hostages in the building, all with guns aimed at their heads. But there was something odd about the arrangement, as the Joker's men were standing right out in the open. It was too easy—Batman saw it, Lucius saw it, hell, even I saw it, and I knew Gordon could see it to, but with pressure on him to get this situation resolved as quickly as possible, he was anxious to get men in there, to save the hostages and Dent. I sympathized with Gordon, but just rushing in would be stupid and I listened with a clenched jaw as Batman tried to relay that very thought to Gordon.

 _"I've only got two minutes before the police come in,"_ Batman said as he leapt from the parking garage and made for the Prewitt building. _"I need picture."_

Lucius turned to the keyboard, only one tiny screen displaying the commands he was imputing. "All systems are up and running. You should have picture on all channels." Lucius then brought up some information on another of the small screens—information I recognized instantly as diagnostics on the Batsuit.

"How did you bring that up?" I asked, the burst of curiosity momentarily distracting me as Batman entered the Prewitt building.

"He used programs that I developed a few years ago," he answered with a small smile.

"Smart of him," I muttered as I turned back to the screens in front of me.

Lucius manipulated his half of screens to locate all the bodies in the building and kept Batman informed of their movements as he moved upwards. I kept my screens showing what Batman could see through his specialized lenses and, uncharacteristically, I kept mostly quiet. The Joker's voice kept trickling in over the speakers as he taunted the people on the ferries and in the building and I was getting progressively more freaked out and worried, especially since there was nothing else to distract me. I watched as Batman moved up the line of hostages and shooters and took the first clown down silently. As the body fell, Batman pulled the mask off.

 _"It's Engle,"_ he said, frustration evident in his voice. Frustration at himself, at Gordon, at the Joker—I wasn't sure. _"The clowns are the hostages and the doctors are the Joker's men."_ Batman started moving again and taking the SWAT team members out of the picture in strange ways, tangling a rope around their legs as he did so.

"They'll notice Engle. There's more police coming up."

I didn't get a reply, nor was I really expecting one in the middle of a fight. As made his way through the building, I took the opportunity to walk a couple circuits around the room, taking long, slow breaths. At least, until I heard the Joker's voice again.

 _"If we don't stop fighting,"_ the madman cackled, _"we're going to miss the fireworks."_

 _"There won't be any fireworks,"_ Batman snarled.

We had sound, but no picture. Batman's lenses seemed to have malfunctioned at some point during the fight, so the only images we had were ones from the outside sonar. Lucius filled both screens with the image and I found them, near the edge of a construction platform, close to falling off. As we watched, the clock stuck midnight and everything just seemed to slow down, then stop. Everything was silent as we waited for someone to pull the trigger.

Nothing.

 _"What were you hoping to prove?"_ Batman snarled. _"That deep down, we're all as ugly as you?"_ The Joker remained silent. I was still scared. _"You're alone."_

The Joker seemed to have ignored what Batman said, as he sighed in an overdramatic fashion and said, _"You can't rely on anyone these days. You have to do everything yourself, and it's not always easy. Do you know how I got these scars?"_

_"No, but I know how you got these—"_

There was a metallic noise followed by the solid thump that sounded like the blades along Batman's bracers firing and finding purchase in the Joker's flesh; I remembered pretty well what those blades sounded like, flying past my head. There was a shriek followed by giggling. My eyes were glued to the sonar images—it looked as if Batman had kicked the Joker over the edge of the building and he was falling. The rapid descent stopped suddenly and the form of the Joker started to move upwards, caught on the grappling line.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and leaned heavily on the table. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked back up at the screen.

 _"This city just showed you it's full of people ready to believe in good,"_ Batman growled.

 _"Until their spirits break completely—until they see what I did with the best of them."_ The Joker laughed loudly, the expression ending in a slight cough; I hope his wounds hurt like a bitch. _"You didn't really think I'd risk losing the battle for Gotham's soul in a fist fight with you?"_ he asked, the dangerously amused tone back in his voice. _"You've got to have an ace in the hole. Mine's Harvey."_

I held back the sharp gasp as Lucius and I exchanged a look. At the same time I asked "What did he do?" Batman asked, _"What did you do?"_

_"I took Gotham's White Knight and brought him down to my level. It wasn't hard; madness is like gravity. All it takes is a little push."_

The Joker's laugh took over the channels for a moment, before Batman came back on. _"Find Harvey,"_ he demanded, voice full of anger now.

Lucius set to the task immediately, as I tried to find the drive to move. The Joker was caught—the police were on the way to get him—but I was still scared. Scared for Harvey, for Bruce, for Gotham, for Sarah, my parents… for everything. I took a deep breath.

_"Gordon's gone—he's probably gone after Harvey. If you can't find Dent, look for Gordon. We've got to find them, we've got to save Harvey, stop him from doing something that will destroy his life completely."_

"What is—"

_"We have to save him."_

"I found them," Lucius interrupted, his voice guarded. "They're at 250 52nd Street."

For the first few heartbeats, I waited for some response, but all we got was the roaring of the Batpod's engine.

-

I watched everything that happened when Batman arrived at the burned out husk of the warehouse, but I don't remember much of what was said or what happened. Harvey was twisted and burned and crazy with grief and anger and he screamed as he waved the gun around at Gordon and his family. Gordon's children cried and his wife begged and I stood in Research and Development miles away and listened with my eyes closed, too afraid to see it if things went south. Lucius remained close by. He didn't touch me again—I think he sensed that I was on the edge of freaking out—but he was there, a comforting presence.

When the gun was aimed at Batman, I bit my lip and opened my eyes. I had to watch. The coin flipped, and the shot rang out. I screamed.

Harvey had shot Batman.

I frantically scanned the sonar images in front of me, looking for Batman. He was lying on the ground, three floors below where Gordon and Harvey were. He wasn't moving.

I gasped for air that wouldn't come and leaned heavily on the machine in front of me.

This was different than the explosions and the beatings I'd listened to. This was a gunshot. To the gut, most likely. And he wasn't moving. I stared harder at the sonar screen and willed Batman to move. Lucius' hands appeared on my shoulders then, and he was saying something, but I couldn't make out what it was beyond the ringing in my ears, beyond the pain at the possibility of Bruce's death. The sonar machine continued to transmit what the microphones in the cowl were picking up, but I didn't hear it any more than I heard what Lucius was saying, any more than I'd heard any of what had happened at the warehouse. I wasn't listening for any of that. I was listening for any sign that Batman was okay.


	29. The Dark Knight

Silence stretched on for what felt like hours, but could only have been minutes. Seconds, even. I was aware of Lucius moving back to his side of the console, but I couldn’t take my eyes from the screen in front of me. 

I saw Batman climb to his feet and I exhaled, sagging against the machine in relief. 

_“I’m fine,”_ he said, almost too quiet for me to hear. 

“Bullshit.” I wiped at my cheeks, which I was only now realizing were wet with tears. I didn’t know when I’d started crying, but I hoped it stopped. “Bullshit,” I repeated, putting some more force behind my words, but I was glad he was alive. It could have been so much worse. 

I pushed myself away from those screens and bent over, bracing myself with my hands on my knees. When I had gathered myself together as much as I was going to be able to, I grabbed the motorcycle helmet from where I’d left it and made for the door Batman had made his exit from only about an hour or two ago. I had to get back to the bunker. I had to be there when Batman returned. 

“Eleanor.”

I stopped with the door opened and turned to face Lucius, who was looking at me with concern in his eyes. “Make sure he gets home,” was all I could think to say before I climbed the steps out of Research and Development and returned to where I’d parked the motorcycle. In a burst of clarity, I remember the helmet was connected to the headset back in the bunker. I switched it on before I pulled the helmet over my head and started the bike. 

_“Gotham needs its true hero,”_ Batman’s voice rumbled. His words sounded strained. He wasn’t fine. Not even close. 

_“You? You can’t!”_ That was Gordon. His voice may have been much quieter than Batman’s, but I could still make out the words okay, and even though I had missed the beginning of the conversation, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what Batman was planning. _“You can’t do this.”_

_“I can. ‘You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain,’”_ he quoted. He sucked in a deep breath and the pain he must have been feeling was even more obvious. I cursed under my breath, both at the situation and at the fact that I couldn’t drive any faster without putting myself at risk. _“I can do those things, because I’m not a hero like Dent. I killed those people. That’s what I can be.”_

“No, no, God damn it Bruce,” I muttered.

_“You’re not—”_

_“I’m whatever Gotham needs me to be.”_

I was starting to feel panicky and I almost missed the alleyway housing the entrance to the road that would lead back to the bunker. I turned hard, pressing the button on the handle of the motorcycle to open the door. 

_“They’ll hunt you.”_

_“You’ll hunt me. You’ll condemn me, set the dogs on me, because that’s what needs to happen.”_

That was the last I heard of the conversation. I brought the bike to a stop and only barely remembered to put the kickstand down before I climbed off, pulling the helmet off and setting down with more force than was probably necessary. Alfred turned sharply, as if he hadn’t known I was coming or had already entered the bunker. I crossed the room to stand beside him. He was watching the GPS dot symbolizing the Batpod as it sped through Gotham, back towards the bunker. I was completely unaware of how much time passed between my arrival and Bruce’s. My eyes only left the computer monitor when he turned down the hidden road and I could hear the rumble of the Batpod’s engine. 

He stumbled as he climbed off the vehicle, though he tried to remain upright. My heart leapt into my throat as I darted forward, ducking under his arm and taking as much of his weight as I could; it took almost all my strength to keep from tumbling to the floor as he leaned into me. Alfred ran to clear off a table and somehow, I managed to get Bruce over to it without either of us falling. I noticed droplets of blood decorating the concrete in a trail from the Batpod to the table and the side of Batman’s armour was covered in it, semi-dry and sticky. The side of my sweater I had had pressed against Bruce was covered in blood. Bile rose in my throat at the sight of it, so I pulled it off and left it in a heap on the floor before moving to help Alfred remove the armour from Bruce’s upper body. 

“I will use local anesthetic,” the butler said when we had exposed the bullet wound. “It’s a shallow wound, but it is still going to hurt.” He retrieved his medical supplies and set to work preparing what he’d need. “Talk to him, Ms. Black, keep him distracted.”

I walked around the table until I was standing at Bruce’s head. My chest was tight and I could feel my eyes itching, my throat burned and I was shaking, but it was nothing compared to what Bruce was about to go through. I put a hand on either side of his face, pushed some of his sweat-dampened hair away from his side. His eyes locked onto mine.

“Bruce,” I breathed, finding myself at a loss for words for the first time I could remember. Tears sprung to life in the corners of my eyes and my shaking grew more pronounced. I leaned closer, my thumbs running over his cheeks. “Bruce.”

He gnashed his teeth together as Alfred began to remove the bullet, but he kept his eyes on mine. “Ellie, you’re going to have to find something more interesting than my name if you want to distract me,” he said from between his teeth. 

Fresh sweat broke out across his brow and I grabbed for the damp cloth Alfred had set out, even as I gave a ragged laugh. I wiped the cloth across Bruce’s forehead and cheeks. “Do you want me to yell at you about how you’ve made a really bad decision?” I asked.

“That would probably work.”

I closed my eyes briefly as Bruce gave a strangled cry of pain, but kept my hands on him. “What do you think you’re doing?” I started, trying to make my voice steady and strong. “You can’t take the responsibility for Harvey’s actions!” I found a vein of anger and latched on, despite the small sounds of pain coming from Bruce’s mouth. “He let his grief and pain drive him mad and he should have to pay for it, regardless of what happens.” Bruce opened his mouth, though I wasn’t sure if it was to reply or a reaction to Alfred digging out the bullet. “You are Gotham’s hero.”

He reached up with the hand opposite the side Alfred was working on and wrapped it around my wrist. “I can’t let the city descend into madness after all Dent’s work has achieved. Dent needs to remain a hero in the eyes of the public so they believe in what he did.”

“You are going to get yourself killed.”

Bruce exhaled a shaky breath, most of the tension leaving his body. I looked up and saw that Alfred had retrieved the bullet and was now working on cleaning and closing the wound. Bruce changed his grip on my arm so he was holding my hand instead of my wrist. 

“Batman is going to disappear,” he said, his words now muddled from the pain of the stitches. 

“Well you already know how I feel about that.” I squeezed his hand. “This city will still need Batman. Dent didn’t get rid of all the criminals.” 

Bruce gave a bit of a laugh and I continued moving over his face and neck with the cool cloth. “Things will change now. Gotham doesn’t need a vigilante who’s confined to the shadows.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say to that. I was feeling a little calmer and Bruce was handling the pain of the stitches with almost his usual indifference. Alfred finished closing the wound and taped a piece of thick gauze over it before quickly checking his charge over for any other serious wounds, but other than deep bruising and minor cuts, there didn’t seem to be much else wrong. 

I left Alfred and Bruce as the butler helped him change, and started walking through the bunker, concentrating on breathing deeply and trying to calm myself down the rest of the way. Bruce was alive and the Joker was in custody. The panic and fear that had held Gotham City would vanish and the city could move on. Despite all that, tears started falling again, a little more freely. My hands and shirt were covered in droplets of blood and some had leaked through my sweater to stain the cloth over my side. I was exhausted, all the adrenaline having left my body.

After a few minutes, Alfred came over and asked me to drive Bruce back to the penthouse while he cleaned up in the bunker. I agreed, anxious to not only get Bruce somewhere he could rest, but to get myself somewhere I could shower and change and sleep. 

-

Bruce must have given in and taken some heavy duty painkillers. He dozed in the car most of the way back to the penthouse and he leaned quite heavily on me in the elevator. I saw him into bed before I went to the guest room to retrieve a pair of the plaid flannel pants and baggy t-shirt that served as my pyjamas. I showered as quickly as I could under too-hot water, changed and threw the sweaty, bloody clothes into the laundry, and fell into bed, hoping sleep would quickly pull me under. 

It didn’t.

My mind was still racing, my body still trying to move, to keep up to events that were no longer happening. The adrenaline was gone and my muscles ached, but my mind wasn’t ready to surrender. With a sigh, I climbed out of bed and padded through the penthouse, my bare feet making next to no noise on the hardwood and tile of the floors. I almost went downstairs to make myself a cup of tea, but as I passed Bruce’s bed, I stopped.

He was lying on his back, one hand on the pillow beside his head, his fingertips resting against his forehead. The blankets were still lying relatively flat, so I would have bet money on the painkillers knocking him out. With a small smile, I settled in the chair beside the bed, pulling my legs up under me and finding a semi-comfortable position in which to sit. It was the first time I could remember seeing Bruce look so peaceful. Granted, the drugs probably canceled that out, but I was going to enjoy not having to worry for that moment. 

My mind brought back what he’d said while Alfred was operating on him: that Batman was going to disappear. I was sure Bruce had some plan thought out, though I probably wouldn’t agree with it. I wanted Batman around because I was damned near positive Gotham would need him again, but I made myself think about what Bruce could do when he wasn’t concerned with his alter-ego. Maybe he would help the city as Bruce Wayne: donate money, resources, time, his intelligence. Maybe he would get Wayne Enterprises projects specifically meant to help Gotham, the world. Maybe he would work with the police, the justice system , to improve prisons, improve the non-lethal weapons and protective gear the GCPD used. He certainly had experience in those areas. 

And it would nice not to have to listen to him getting shot and blown up and beaten. 

“Ellie?”

I gave a small start at the sound of his voice and smiled at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Wasn’t you,” he answered groggily. “What are you doing out here?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” I unfolded my legs and sat in the chair properly, leaning forward slightly. “So I came to check on you and then I just started thinking—my brain won’t shut up.” Realizing I might be keeping him up, I shook my head and pushed myself to my feet, tucking some hair behind my ear. “I’ll just go downstairs and read and let you sleep.”

“Ellie.”

I turned back to the bed and met Bruce’s sleepy gaze. He didn’t move or say anything, but I sat on the edge of the bed anyway, stretching out with my head on the other pillow after a moment and rolling onto my side to face Bruce. He didn’t move anything but his head—I suspected it would hurt if he tried to roll onto his side—and he gave me a small smile. I returned the expression, though I found sleep pulling at the corners of my consciousness and knew my eyes were fluttering closed. The bed was so comfortable and warm.

“What woke you?” I mumbled.

“A bad dream.”

“You have those?”

“More often than you’d think.”

I laughed because I thought he’d meant it to be funny, though I apologized almost immediately. I tried to open my eyes to smile at Bruce again, but found the task almost impossible. When I was finally able to open them a sliver, I found that I had moved closer to Bruce, close enough for his warmth to make the rest of the room feel chilled. I closed my eyes again and nuzzled into the top of the blankets.

“Come here,” I thought I heard Bruce say.

I climbed under the covers and curled up against his uninjured side, my head on his shoulder and my hands folded between us. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, a comforting weight, his fingers tightening around the fabric of my t-shirt, holding on as if he thought I might slip away when he’d give in to sleep again. There was no rush of electricity or attraction or anything in that moment. It was completely about finding comfort, and for the first time, I thought Bruce might need me there as much as I needed him. When he placed a soft, sleepy kiss on my forehead, I knew he did. I moved as close to him as I could without being afraid I’d hurt him and let sleep finally pull me under.


	30. New Jobs

_One month since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_One month since the last confirmed appearance of Batman._

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

"Are you really sure about this?"

"Ellie, we've talked about this. I've explained my decision and you agreed—"

"Begrudgingly."

"You agreed it was a good idea."

I crossed my arms and watched as Bruce finished stacking the last of the batarangs in the compartment holding the Batsuit and all the gadgets he'd collected since first striking out into the night skies, tapping the fingers of one hand against the opposite bicep in an irritated pattern. "I agreed it's a good idea in the sense that it will allow Dent's actions against organized crime to stand, but I still don't like that you're turning yourself into a villain, that you're giving up. I don't agree with the way you're letting Batman go. I don't agree with you letting him go at all."

The look I got was a withering one and I almost shrunk back, but I hadn't been friends—or whatever we were now—with Bruce for this long without learning some resilience. I set my jaw and returned the look, tightening my fingers around my arms until it hurt.

"I am not giving up on helping Gotham, Eleanor, but I'm going to do it as myself, as someone the city can see. I don't need the mask anymore. Gotham doesn't need a vigilante anymore." His voice was nearly flat, just a hint of bitterness telling me his decision might have been bothering him more than he was letting on.

"Maybe not right now, but do you really think you're done with Batman? That you can be done with Batman?"

A few beats of tense silence passed, Bruce and I just looking at each other, before he said, "Maybe not, but I have to try. I have to try and have some semblance of a normal life while I have the chance."

I sighed and rolled my eyes, dropping my hands to my sides.

We'd been here before too. The last month had found Bruce and I living in some sort of limbo where we were either yelling and screaming at each other about the same things, or hovering on the edge of something else, something I'd wanted for so long and something I think Bruce was afraid to want again, both of us too scared to take that last step. There was no middle ground. Something had changed during the chaos caused by the Joker and there was no going back to how we'd been before. But regardless of what stage of the limbo cycle we were currently in—yelling and screaming—we always came back to Rachel; for Bruce a "normal" life was one without the darkness and secrets and pain, something he could honour Rachel's memory with.

He watched me gather myself back together. I gave my head a small shake to try and rid myself of the frustration that welled up every time we ended up back on Rachel. I didn't want to start yelling again; I was tired of it and I suspected Bruce was as well. I understood it had only been a month since Rachel's death and Bruce had spent most of his life assuming they'd get married. He'd loved her—still loved her—and he wouldn't move passed it anytime soon. I didn't expect him to, I never had. But… it was hard to watch him miss her and know there was nothing I could do. It was hard to watch him miss her and love her and know it would never change when everything else was changing.

"Even if you weren't Batman, it'd be impossible for you have a normal life," I eventually said, my voice rather more bitter than I'd intended thanks to the thoughts running through my head. "You're Gotham's Favoured Son; a billionaire. Normal for you is far different than anyone else no matter how hard you try."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, but he shook his head, recognizing the change of direction I was trying to take, knowing talking about Rachel or anything that might come back to her was hard for me, just as it was hard for him. "I have to try."

I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge to say something else, something that would turn this into a screaming match. "Fine." I picked my jacket up off the floor and pulled it on before swinging my bag up onto my shoulder. "I'll talk to you later. I've got to get to my class," I said, meaning the martial arts class I'd started after the whole Joker mess was over.

I could feel Bruce's eyes on me as I left the bunker, a place I'd spent countless hours over the last year, and a place I wasn't sure I'd ever see again. I met his gaze as the lift moved towards the ceiling and tried to keep my face blank, but I knew some of the anger and frustration I was feeling welled to the surface—I could feel it in the set of my jaw, but I didn't change the expression. I let him see what I was feeling even though it wasn't a new response. I let him see the fear I held inside as well, the fear I wouldn't have a place in the new life he was attempting. I had carved out a place for myself in his life through Batman and now Batman was gone. I was afraid my place had gone with him. I held his gaze and let Bruce see it all.

He looked away first.

-

_Three months since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Three months since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

"I don't know what you're thinking Lucius, letting Bruce—"

"I'm not letting Bruce Wayne do anything," Lucius told the irate board member standing in front of him. "It is his company and if he wants to become more involved in the running of said company, who am I to say no?"

The board member shook his head and walked down the hall towards the elevator, leaving Lucius and I standing at the door to the board room, the morning light streaming through the windows and illuminating the marble and glass. Lucius and I shared a smile before starting back towards his office and my desk.

Bruce had just announced to the board he was taking a more active role in the running of the company, in where his money was going. There had been some interesting protests made from some of the older members, about how Bruce had no idea how to run a company and about what they perceived as a general lack of intelligence or interest in something that didn't include models or sports cars. I had had to cover my mouth with my hand and pretend I was coughing to hide the laughter, especially when Bruce had just smiled at them and told them not to worry.

"Well that went better than expected."

I raised an eyebrow at my boss. "Were you expecting them to all up and quit or something?" Lucius shrugged and I laughed. "They definitely weren't too happy."

"I am sure they'll find a way to live with this development. Bruce will surprise them all before too long, I think."

We shared another grin before Lucius disappeared into his office. I turned towards my desk and gave a start, finding Bruce standing there, looking at the photos of my parents, Sarah, Alfred, and him. Upon noticing me, he stepped back so I could sit down.

"You caused quite the stir in there," I said, kicking off my high heels as I always did when seated. I hated the stupid things.

Bruce shrugged one shoulder, his hands in his pockets. "I didn't expect anything else."

"Neither did I, but it was still amusing to watch."

He smiled at the comment, but then his face fell to neutral. "Eleanor," he asked, the tone of his voice indicating something serious was coming up. I sat a little straighter in my chair. "It occurred to me a little while ago that taking a more active role in the company will occupy my time the way a recent pursuit of mine did." The words sounded a little awkward and practiced, but there was a growing bubble of excitement inside—I thought I might know where this was going. "And it occurred to me some assistance may be necessary."

I tried to contain my grin. "You want me to be your assistant? Like, officially?"

Bruce nodded and leaned back against my desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Like, quit my job here and be your personal assistant? Pick up your dry cleaning, handle public relations—"

"Yes," he said with a slight grin at my tone.

I snorted. "Why would I do that? You already have Alfred."

But I saw what he was doing. He was giving me a place. I didn't have to make one for myself this time; I wasn't going to have to fight him to get close like I had before. I turned my sarcastic expression into a warm smile, one he returned, the simple gesture confirming my suspicion. Bruce Wayne didn't need a personal assistant—he didn't even need a butler, but it wasn't like Alfred was going anywhere—but he was offering me the position anyway. He didn't need help to be the businessman he'd pretended to be for so long, but it was expected he would have a personal assistant, some lackey to do the running around.

"I assume you've already discussed this with Lucius?" I asked, gathering the papers and files up off my desk and tapping against the surface until the pile was lined up neatly in my hands. I needed to do something with my hands or my thoughts were going to run away on me.

"Of course. Oddly enough, he didn't seem terribly upset about losing you. Something about your work having slipped in the last few months…"

I narrowed my eyes at Bruce, my mouth quirked in another smirk. I set the files back down and settled back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other. Regardless of him having it all sorted out with Lucius—I would say Bruce's confidence annoyed me, but it didn't really—the option to say no was still there. It might have been the better choice, but I'd known I'd say yes as soon as he'd asked me the question. Bruce knew it as well.

But, for whatever reason, he wanted my help, even if he didn't need it.

Maybe that thing we'd been hovering around, all the unspoken things, maybe this would… Oh, I didn't know, but I would still have a place in Bruce's life. The fear—of losing him, of losing whatever it was we'd built between us—I'd been harbouring for the past three months vanished and I smiled up at him, turning in my chair so I could bump the top of my foot against the side of his leg.

"This is all for the public image, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "Partly."

I raised an eyebrow. "Partly?"

"Well, it's expected someone in my place would have a personal assistant, and aside from you having obvious experience," he added, gesturing at my desk, "I am aware of the benefits of having an extra set of hands." Bruce pushed himself off the desk and took a step forward, stopping beside my chair. "And… I've grown used to having you around, Ellie."

He walked away before I could say anything else, not that I had any idea of what I would have said. I watched him head towards the elevator, a small smile on my lips.

-

_Six months since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Six months since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

"If you're not going to pay attention when I talk, I might as well go back to my job for Lucius."

Bruce snapped out of his reverie and frowned at me. He'd been sort of lost all day—it had been six months since Rachel's death, and he seemed to be feeling it harder than he had in a while. I turned the screen of my phone towards him, showing the memo I'd made, listing the magazines and newspapers that wanted interviews with Bruce Wayne, the prodigal son finally returning to run his family business.

"Do you want me to tell these fine publications that you will be able to do interviews with them over the phone or via e-mail? Or do you want to meet some of them in person? Do you want me to decide and then tell you what you're doing? I need a little feedback here."

He looked back out the window, his hand tightening around his mug. "Pick one or two to meet with in person. I'll do the rest over the phone."

I sighed and locked the phone before sliding it back in my pocket before crossing my arms and leaning back against the counter in the kitchen. I got the distinct feeling Bruce wanted to be left alone, but I wasn't going anywhere. After a few minutes, he looked to me again.

"Do you need me to do anything?" I asked, voice a little hesitant, though I was sure he would know what I was getting at.

"There is nothing to be done for this."

I took a few steps closer and put my hand on the back of his shoulder. He tensed at the touch, so I took my hand away and put some distance between us again. Bruce set his mug down on the counter as he turned and walked a few steps away from the window, running his hands back through his hair. I could see him warring with himself, see the turmoil in his eyes as he turned back around. The last time I had seen so much of what he was feeling on his face was right after it had happened, when I'd come back to the penthouse, when he'd been blaming himself…

"It wasn't your fault," I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me and I braced myself for yelling. "Of course it was. None of this would have happened if I hadn't decided becoming a vigilante was the only way things in Gotham were going to change."

"You did change things—"

"For the worse."

I'd known grief could come in waves, could strike even six months after, could strike much, much later. I knew there would probably be moments like this in the future, where he went back to questioning everything he'd done, all the choices he'd made. It didn't matter. I was still annoyed. Annoyed he hadn't listened to what I'd said the morning after Rachel's death. Annoyed he was intent on blaming himself for things beyond his control. Annoyed nothing had really changed in the last six months.

"So we're back here again?" I snapped, more to myself than to provoke Bruce.

Too bad he didn't realize that. The mood between us changed, like someone had flicked a switch from "tense" to "hostile." I would like to say that was a new sensation, but it wasn't. Not by a long shot.

"Did you expect something else? Did you expect everything to be better?"

"Did you?!" I stepped up in front of him, cutting off his pacing. Words just started pouring out of my mouth. "Did you expect instant gratification once Batman was gone? Did you expect Gotham to just settle into a crime-free time of peace? Did you expect some sort of instant recognition for trying to help Gotham as Bruce Wayne?" I jabbed my finger against his chest. "Did you expect Rachel to come back to life so you two could have your happily ever after?"

He grabbed my wrist, holding hard enough to be uncomfortable, but not to hurt just yet, though I could see it in his face that it might hurt if I didn't keep my mouth shut. I turned my arm in the way I'd been taught, the movement breaking Bruce's hold on me.

"I never cared about being recognized for what I was doing," he said, bypassing the last of what I'd said.

"I know that! But you're acting like a petulant child who didn't get what he wanted for his birthday!" I stepped in close again, but kept my hands to myself. I let myself be insensitive. There were things that needed to be said, things I hadn't said before now for fear of hurting Bruce's feelings, of having myself ejected from his life. "I know you miss Rachel and you're still grieving. I don't expect that to change any time soon, Bruce, but you can't let it dictate your actions."

"I didn't give up Batman because of her—"

"She may have not been the whole reason, but 'honouring' her memory of whatever you want to call it was part of it!" He grabbed my wrist again as I lifted my hand and this time, it did hurt. I didn't let myself show it though. "You need to find a way to move on from her death, Bruce. Maybe not right away, but soon."

"With you?" he sneered with so much venom in his voice that I did wince, tears prickling at my eyes.

"No, not if that's not what you want," I gasped. "Just something. You haven't done anything for the past six months except talk about the things you want to accomplish. _Do something good_ and Rachel will be proud of you." I yanked my wrist from his grasp and it hurt, but I didn't do anything except wrap my other hand around it. "And if you don't want me around, all you have to do is tell me. Don't make up some shit reason for needing an assistant. I'm a big girl, Bruce. I can handle it."

Without waiting for a response, I turned away from him and walked away.

"Ellie."

I stopped in the door leading to the living room. I didn't turn, didn't say anything. There were a few tears of my cheeks, from both the physical pain and the pain of his words and I didn't want him to see. The weight of his hand settled on my shoulder and I closed my eyes, inhaling sharply. His thumb brushed against the back of my neck and I turned to face him.

"I'm sorry, Bruce," I said.

"Don't apologize… you're right." The hand on my shoulder slid down my arm, his fingers tightening around my hand. "And I do want you around."

"I—I know."

I leaned against him, my head on his shoulder and my arms pressed between us. The tension and hostility washed out of me as his arm moved around my waist, only to be replaced by the same buzzing electricity I'd felt months before whenever he touched me or came close. I tried to ignore it, and might have made a good show, had his next words been different.

"I need you, Ellie," he whispered, voice so quite I was sure I'd imagined it. "I'm not sure I could do this 'normal' thing without you."

My heart was pounding in my ears and there was a fine mix of anticipation and trepidation coursing through my body in addition to whatever I'd been feeling seconds before. I swallowed hard and moved back just enough so I could look him in the eye. I tried to make my expression some mix between sarcasm and confusion, prodding him to speak further, but I'm not sure it came across as such. We held each other's gaze and the world narrowed down to just the two of us. I was very aware of how warm he was, of the intensity in his dark eyes.

We were dangling over the edge of the cliff we'd been dancing around for months, and as Bruce lowered his face to mine, I knew we weren't coming back up. His arm tightened on my waist and his other hand slid up into my hair, holding the back of my head as he kissed me.

I froze for the briefest of heartbeats, expecting to wake up, for the dream to shatter. When nothing changed, a small noise escaped my mouth and I gave in to the heady feeling of Bruce's lips on mine, of the heat of body against mine. I slid my arms up around his neck, pulling myself to him and closing that last inch of space between us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult to write, but showing the back and forth in their relationship and the turmoil was planned. I'm sorry if it's a bit scattered, but these two are sort of just going ahead without me and I'm scrambling to catch up.
> 
> So anyways, this chapter is the first of the five that will take place over the eight years between The Dark Knight and The Dark Knight Rises. Oh, and by the way, I'm so excited to hear your reactions to this chapter. SO EXCITED! I haven't decided whether or not all five chapters between the movies will follow the same format. They might, since I have a lot of time to cover, but we'll see. Let me know what you think I should do.
> 
> Oh, and just a note, I'm kind of assuming that The Dark Knight happens in like… May, since there was no snow but people were wearing jackets and stuff. Also, in The Dark Knight Rises, Bruce is gone for six months after Harvey Dent Day, and when he gets back, there's a little bit of snow, so… Yeah. If this is wrong… well, I'm not going to change it, but I apologize if it's wrong. I couldn't find any concrete information, so I'm just going by visual cues here. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Oh yeah, perhaps some Tony/Pepper influences here. Only Bruce and Ellie aren't quite so cute.


	31. Remembrance

_One year since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_One year since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

I hadn't seen Bruce all day, which wasn't abnormal for a Thursday—I had karate class in the evening and Bruce played golf with some of the board members of Wayne Enterprises during the day—but it felt abnormal for that particular Thursday.

It was Harvey Dent Day, the new Gotham City holiday where the people were to gather to remember their lost hero, to remember the man who had saved their city from organized crime and who'd lost his life to Batman, who was widely accepted as nothing more than a thug in a cape and mask nowadays. It had been a year since Harvey's death and it may be only the first such ceremony, but all Gotham television and radio networks were covering the event, which was taking place at Wayne Manor—a generous donation of venue from Bruce Wayne himself.

It was a day when the citizens of Gotham would unknowingly be blaming Bruce for the death of their hero, and the main event was taking place at his house. I'd asked him if he thought it was a good idea—I certainly didn't—but he'd just told me it was the least he could do. I was worried about how he was handling it, because thoughts of Harvey Dent would bring up thoughts of Rachel, and I knew Bruce still blamed himself, regardless of how hard he tried to hide it, to pretend otherwise. I was worried about him and I hadn't seen him all day—I hadn't even been able to worry openly. To the public I was just Bruce's personal assistant; no one outside Bruce, Alfred, and I knew of our relationship, and while worrying about your boss wasn't unheard of, I would not have been able to keep my worry at a professional level. So I'd kept it inside.

By the time I arrived at the manor, it was already bustling with the wait staff and caterers and the house smelled of a thousand different things. I entered through the kitchen like always and waved at Alfred, who was directing the hoard of young waitresses and waiters on how the evening was to proceed. He returned the wave with a nod and gestured vaguely in the direction of the main staircase, which meant Bruce was either in the study or in his room getting ready for the party.

The construction of Wayne Manor had finished just in time for the event to take place. There were a few rooms where the paint was so new you could smell it and the furniture hadn't quite made it into place, but every area the guests might stumble upon was finished and spoke to the glamour of the place and the Wayne fortune. The house looked almost identical to what it had been before the fire that had destroyed it several years ago. I gave an involuntary shudder as I climbed the stairs, recalling the night of the fire: the glow of the flames on the sky, running through the grass barefoot to the guest house and trying not to cry. It had happened not long after I'd discovered what Bruce was doing with his nights. It seemed like a lifetime ago, especially since Batman was retired.

I found Bruce in the massive walk-in closet in his room, standing in front of the mirror as he tied his tie. I stopped in the doorway, struck by memories of him suiting up to go out and patrol the streets of Gotham, the parallel catching me off guard.

"Ellie," he said, catching sight of me in the mirror.

I shook myself from my thoughts and smiled. On a different night, I might have told him what I'd been thinking, but we still tended to fight about Batman, and I didn't want to fight with him tonight. "How are you doing?" I asked as I stepped up beside him. In my jeans and t-shirt, the duffel containing my things for karate slung over my shoulder, I looked quite shabby next to Bruce.

He met my gaze in the mirror, his face falling to reveal the anger and pain of the memories in his eyes. I reached down and wrapped my hand around his, despite the awkwardness I still felt in touching to offer comfort. Simple gestures had never been something common between Bruce and me. He squeezed my hand and I leaned into him a bit.

"I'll get through it."

"I know you will."

Bruce turned towards me and leaned down to put his forehead against mine and I closed my eyes, enjoying the moment. Oddly, Bruce seemed to be the one who'd better adjusted to the new parameters of our relationship. His arm slipped around my waist and I lifted my head to catch the quick kiss, one hand still wrapped around his and the other coming to rest on his chest. He was warm and I wanted to curl against him, tell him we should blow off the ceremony and stay upstairs. I kissed him again, deeper this time.

"I had better go get ready," I said when we parted. "I can't go to a high-class party dressed like this."

Bruce gave me a small smile. "You can stay up here, you know."

I raised my eyebrows at him, felt a familiar smirk taking over my lips. "You don't need me to stay upstairs. You need me down there, just in case. I'll always be where you need me, even if I don't have an earpiece in and the fate of the city isn't at stake."

I thought I heard Bruce laugh as I headed towards the hall, but I couldn't be sure.

-

Despite being slightly boring—lots of speeches and dourness and people using the media coverage and guest list to further their own lives and careers—the Harvey Dent Day ceremony passed without incident. Mayor Garcia, Commissioner Gordon, and Bruce all gave beautiful speeches, though Gordon looked sort of antsy during his. I knew it was probably because of the secret he was hiding; the Commissioner was an honest man, I could imagine how it was eating at him to know what he knew and not be able to tell anyone. Aside from Bruce and me, I was pretty confident no one else noticed, or if they did, they chalked the response up to emotion over the loss of a friend. It had only been a year and the pain was still raw for many.

As the guests began to leave, I wound my way through the crowd to find Bruce. I had spent the majority of the evening catching up with Sarah, who'd been forced to come to the sombre ceremony because Aaron's father had worked with Harvey Dent and he'd talked his son and Sarah into accompanying him in lieu of his late wife. I'd wanted to go to Bruce—there was a lot of hate for Batman and pride for Harvey permeating the conversation—but I hadn't been able to while the party was going on.

I found him in the entrance hall of the manor, watching the parade of cars exit the manor. I took up a place beside him, waved at Sarah as her car drove past, with her hanging half out the window to say goodbye. I smiled to myself and then turned to Bruce, the expression becoming a little more reserved. He looked exhausted.

"I can get you the day off tomorrow if you want," I said. "I do have that power as your personal assistant."

Bruce shook his head, one corner of his mouth lifting. "No. I need to be busy."

I nodded, furrowing my brows in mock concentration. "I will make sure the day is full as possible then." I returned Bruce's dim smile with the biggest one I could manage before I moved past him towards the stairs. I bumped my shoulder against his and heard a breath of laughter in response.

I had a room at Wayne Manor where I kept my things, and had any of the party guests been staying the night, I would have slept there as well. Thankfully, the unfinished state of the manor meant the guest rooms were off limits. So, once I exchanged my knee-length black dress for the baggy t-shirt and flannel shorts combo that made up my pajamas, I headed back down the hall towards the master bedroom. Bruce was already there, standing in front of the window, looking down on the yard as the staff disassembled the tents and cleaned away the tables. His tie was gone and the first few buttons of his shirt undone.

"I think Harvey would have hated to know there was a party being held in his honour again."

I hadn't expected Bruce to speak. "Yeah, he didn't seem too thrilled to be around the high society of Gotham the last time." When I moved up beside Bruce this time, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I wrapped my arms around him and, not for the first time, marvelled at how normal it felt, how normal our lives had become since Bruce had put Batman to rest. "He would have liked your speech though, and Gordon's. You know, before he went crazy."

I felt Bruce's lips against the top of my head. "This way is best," Bruce said, referring to the public's unawareness of Harvey's state of mind right before he died.

"I know—it gives Gotham a hero."

Bruce arm tightened around my middle. "This way is best," he said again, his voice so quiet I wasn't sure he'd actually spoken.

I looked up at him, concern taking over my face. We rarely spoke of Batman or anything related to Bruce's vigilante alter ego, but I was starting to think I should force the discussion, that maybe Bruce missed it more than he was letting on. Maybe he still needed it.

-

_One year and seven months since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_One year and seven months since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

"Ms. Black, I really do not require help."

"I know Alfred. I just… I need something to do while I'm worrying. I already alphabetized the books by author in the main library." When Alfred raised his eyebrows, I put the knife I was using to chop peppers down and sighed, my hands on my hips. "I don't have things to tinker with in the cave anymore—Bruce gets mad when I go down there. And it's Christmas Eve. There's no actual work to be done. And," I said again, putting more emphasis on the word, "Bruce has been off in his own little world for days reading proposals for new Wayne Enterprises projects and probably creating his own." I huffed. "I don't know what to do, so I'm doing this to keep my mind busy."

The butler gave me a sympathetic look and squeezed my shoulder. "Then by all means, Ms. Black, please continue."

I smiled at Alfred and went back to slicing the peppers on the cutting board in front of me as he returned to minding whatever he was actually making for dinner. When both the peppers were diced up for Alfred to use, I leaned back against the counter, my arms crossed over my chest.

"What should I do Alfred?"

"Pardon me for saying so, but you have never had difficulty talking to Master Bruce before, regardless of the topic."

I sighed. "I know, but this is… different. Before, Bruce had his life divided and now that he doesn't, he's thrown himself so completely into his to make up for it. He's still not coping with the loss of Rachel, or Harvey, or Batman, and it's like there isn't a spot for me in his life until he needs my help."

The sympathy was still there, but all Alfred said was, "Ms. Black, I have told you before, Master Bruce needs you. That has not changed. Both of you are still adjusting to the new circumstances you have found yourselves in—you forged your relationship around Batman and now that he no longer exists…"

"Are you encouraging me to be stubborn?"

"You have never been one to let what you want pass you by, not even when you were a child. Master Bruce will listen to you, but you know as well as I do that he can get lost in his work. You have to make him hear you."

I frowned. Alfred wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know, but I realized with something like shock I hadn't forced Bruce to talk to me because I was afraid. I was afraid of breaking whatever sense of peace he'd found since the horror of the Joker's acts. I'd been tiptoeing around Bruce for a long time. We'd come so far in our relationship in some ways and, at the same time, stayed exactly where we'd been. I pinched the bridge of my nose between my forefinger and thumb and sighed again.

"I should not have needed you to tell me that, Alfred."

"Sometimes it is the obvious things we miss."

I took in is cheeky expression with a grin before I left the kitchen, heading for the study on the ground floor, the one he'd converted into the biggest office I'd ever seen. I knocked on the door before opening it, but didn't wait for any word to say I could enter. I stopped as soon as I had opened the door however.

Bruce was standing in front of the piano, one hand hovering over the keys that would open the secret entrance to the bat cave when pressed in the correct order.

"We should go down," I said before I could stop myself.

"No."

I crossed the room and pressed the keys before Bruce could say anything else. "I think it'll be good for you."

"For me?"

I nodded and started towards the stairs leading down to the elevator, putting more confidence than I actually felt into my walk. Bruce's footsteps followed me a second later and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. When we were both standing in the small elevator, Bruce pressed the button and we started gliding down into the damp darkness of the cave. Something changed in Bruce's face as we got closer and I knew this was the right thing to do.

I stepped off the elevator first, only then realizing my feet were still bare. It didn't really matter. I'd been down in the cave plenty of times before without shoes. I walked forward and stopped in about the middle of the platform as it rose out of the water. Bruce hesitated on the rocky shore. I stared at him until he met my gaze and extended my hand towards him. He walked onto the platform and took my hand.

"If you really want the normal life you say you want, you have to let Batman go," I said. "You know how the majority of the city feels and you gave me your reasons for hanging up the cape and I… I've accepted them as much as I can. I will never be happy about you giving up that part of your life because I think you need it more than I do, more than the city does, but if you want this normal life, you've got to be happy with your decision." Bruce looked down at me; he was standing closer than I'd realized, so I reached out and placed the hand he wasn't holding against his chest. "I'm not going anywhere, regardless of your choice, but it hurts me to see you so conflicted."

"I… It was the right choice," he said.

"You don't have to convince me, Bruce. I surrendered that fight a long time ago."

Bruce nodded almost absently. "It's harder to let go of than I thought it would be."

I could hear in his voice how much the admission cost him. I let go of his hand and pushed the hair back from my face with both hands. "Of course it is. I don't know what happened to you when you left Gotham all those years ago, but when you came back to the city, you had a goal, a purpose. I could see it in your eyes even at that party. You were confident you were doing the right thing. After everything with the Joker, you were sure that giving up Batman was the right thing, but that doesn't make it any less a part of you. You've been acting like it never happened while you focus on helping Gotham as Bruce Wayne."

"Ellie—"

I raised a hand, cutting him off. "You're just making it harder on yourself and on Alfred and me. And it hurts me when you throw yourself so completely into whatever it is you're working on that you forget I exist."

Bruce pressed his lips together in a thin line. "I didn't—"

"I mean figuratively, genius." I pushed myself up onto my toes so I could press my lips to his. "Let me help you, Bruce. I've gotten pretty good at it over the past few years."

Bruce wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a hug. "Alfred was right—you might a good influence yet."

My cheeks flushed—I hadn't known Alfred had spoken to Bruce about me—and almost as if Bruce sense it, he pulled back just enough to kiss me again. As the kiss grew, his hands sliding down my back and mine along his chest, I realized this was his way of finishing and diverting the discussion. He didn't want to talk about letting Batman go, about his decision to try for a normal life. He didn't want to talk about his work for Wayne Enterprises, or about anything. Strangely, as he picked me up with relative ease and I wrapped my legs around his hips, I found I didn't really care. There was always time for talking later.


	32. The Energy Project

_Two years and three months since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Two years and three months since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

"I do not miss having to sit in on those long ass meetings."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at me as he approached Lucius's desk, a small smile on his lips. I rose out of my former boss' chair and walked around the desk so I could stand in front of Bruce. Had we been in private, I would have wrapped my arms around his neck or grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down so I could kiss him, but we weren't in private. So, I settled for smirking up at him and enjoying the fact he knew what was one my mind.

"Well you certainly didn't miss anything in that meeting," Lucius said as he entered the office. I automatically took a step back from Bruce, though Lucius was aware of my relationship with Bruce; you try hiding something from someone as smart as Lucius Fox. "The majority of the board is having a hard time believing in the clean energy project and they're calling it 'an impractical dream of a spoiled rich kid.'"

He gave Bruce an apologetic look, but the rich kid in question didn't seem overly bothered by the lack of support behind the project. I couldn't say I was surprised by it either. I had read the proposal Bruce had put to the board two weeks ago. It sounded like the perfect solution—"too good to be true" sort of thing—and even I had doubted its legitimacy at first, but Bruce had given me the stacks of paper and books making up his research and because it was important to him, and because I was his personal assistant and would need to know about the project, I read it all. And I believed in the project now.

"I will find a way to convince them," Bruce said.

"What you need is someone else to put money behind this project; outside funding. The board will respect the proposal more if there's more than just Wayne funding behind this."

"Because that makes sense," I interjected.

"Whether or not it makes sense, it will make the board listen. This is an important project." Lucius looked from Bruce to me and back again, his face serious. "This could save this city and far, far more."

It was a heavy statement, but it was true.

I waited out the grave silence before I moved about the office, gathering my things. Bruce and Lucius chatted about a few more matters of business, matters Bruce would fill me in on if it was important. Once I had my bag on my shoulder, the small stack of files and papers for Bruce to look over in the bend of my arm, and my high heels back on my feet, I nodded to Bruce and with goodbyes to Lucius, we were walking through the halls of Wayne Enterprises, headed for the elevator and the parking garage beyond.

"You've got to look through this pile of charities asking for donations and decide which ones you're going to send money to," I said once we were in the elevator. "And Yale wants you to attend their graduation ceremony—"

"I didn't graduate from Yale."

"I know that, but since you've emerged as a positive public figure, they want to claim you as an alumnus. I can call them and tell them you respectfully decline the invitation under the premise of wanting to remain honest or something if you want." Bruce rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, I'll just tell them you, regretfully, will not be able to attend. We also have—"

"Ellie, can you—"

"Got it. I'll take care of everything that doesn't actually need your attention, but you have to go through the charity stuff, all right? I'll even start compiling a list of possible backers for your energy project."

He nodded, expression set to exasperated, but there was a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. The elevator came to a stop and I bumped my shoulder against his arm playfully as I walked out into the parking garage.

We climbed into the car, Bruce getting behind the wheel. He'd been opting to drive himself more and more lately. Alfred thought—and I agreed—it had something to do with getting the adrenaline rush he was no longer getting chasing criminals and justice through the night. He had actually taken up some of the activities he'd pretended to in order to cover his injuries taken as Batman, although he still refused to play polo: he'd been rock climbing, spelunking, and sky diving. I went running with Bruce sometimes, although he set a pace far more punishing than Sarah and I did when we ran; I could keep up, but just barely, and I was always terribly exhausted afterwards. I'd also convinced him we could spar again without him hurting me. He didn't have the anger and hatred for the Joker burning brightly in the forefront of his thoughts anymore, and I had at least tripled my experience in martial arts. Not to mention our sparring matches could now—and frequently did—become much more intimate in nature. Bruce had also decided now was a good time to teach himself, and subsequently me, archery, which was much more fun than expected and something I picked up rather quickly.

"Was there a dinner on the schedule for today?" Bruce asked as he turned onto the bridge that would take us out to Wayne Manor.

I pulled up the calendar on my phone and scrolled through the listed events for the day. Meetings, a lunch, more meetings… "Yes. You're meeting Mayor Garcia and his wife at seven for dinner at that new place—oh what the hell is the name of the restaurant—"

"Infinite?"

"Yes, that's the one! But yes. You have a dinner there." Bruce met my gaze for almost longer than I was comfortable with him looking away from the road. The look he was giving me was one I was familiar with at this point. I bunched my lips together, trying and failing to supress a grin. "I am not cancelling the dinner, Bruce. This is the mayor. Besides, you cancelled on him last time!"

He gave a barely perceptible shrug with the shoulder closest to me. "Would you like to come with me then?"

My initial reaction was to say yes, but I made myself think it through—I'd learned something in the past few years anyway. "Don't you think he'll think it weird you brought your personal assistant to a non-business dinner?"

"I'm Bruce Wayne, I can do whatever I want. I'm supposed to be eccentric, remember?"

I snorted. "Fine. He probably wants to discuss the energy project anyways."

"Probably."

I smiled at Bruce as he pulled the car into the garage at Wayne Manor. Once we were both out of the car and I had all my things about my person, I fell in step beside Bruce, taking his hand as we walked to the house. He squeezed my hand and brought it up to place a light kiss on the back of it, a kiss that shouldn't have sent shivers up and down my spine, but somehow did anyways.

-

_Two years and nine months since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Two years and nine months since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

"Seriously Eleanor, it has been far too long since you had a date. I know Bruce keeps you busy, but you have to take some time to take care of yourself. The last date you went on was with Sam, and you never even told us why that didn't work out."

I shook my head when my mother stopped speaking and stopped poking at my lunch with my fork—this was a conversation we'd had many times before and the script never changed. "I don't understand what the big deal is, Mom. I don't feel like I need a boyfriend or whatever you'd call it at my age. I'm perfectly happy."

Not for the first time, I wished I could tell my Mom about Bruce and me, but it wouldn't be a good idea. Bruce and I hadn't had many conversations about the strangeness of our situation, but then, when we were alone it didn't seem to matter so much, but he had his public image to worry about and there was enough attention on my being his personal assistant already. Though Bruce had made some comments to various magazines about putting his bachelor days behind him, I was sure they were meant more to cover the fact he hadn't taken a date to several big events over the past couple years than to pave the way for our relationship coming out in public.

"But Eleanor, don't you want a family?"

I'd known the question was coming, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. "I know you want grandchildren, and I'm sorry I haven't been able to give you any, but I don't know if that's in my future."

"Eleanor… I just, I worry that you're too busy making sure Bruce's life runs smoothly that you're forgetting to live your own life."

"My life is just fine, Mom." I looked down at my watch and saw with some relief that Bruce's meeting with one of the potential backers for the energy project should just about be over. "I appreciate that you're worried about me, but I can take care of myself. Maybe I'll meet someone at Sarah's wedding?" I suggested hopefully.

Mom smiled at that, but the expression didn't reach her eyes. "Perhaps."

"Mom…"

She waved away whatever protest I'd been about to make. "You have always been one to go your own way, honey, but I am going to worry about you. You are not the same person you were a few years ago and I am not sure what made you change. There is so much about your life that I don't know anymore and it is not an easy place for a mother to be." She leaned across the table and took my hand. "I love you and I just want to be happy."

I squeezed her hand. "I know. I love you too."

A few more seconds ticked by and I thought my mother might start crying, but she rallied and gave me one of her usual bright smiles. "I saw you looking at your watch—go. Don't want to leave Bruce waiting. Lunch is on me."

I returned the smile with a little less wattage and grabbed by coat and bag. Before leaving, I kissed my mother's cheek and gave her one of those slightly awkward one-armed hugs you have to give when one person is sitting and the other is standing. She squeezed my arm and we exchanged another smile and then I was hurrying out to the parking lot.

My mind whirred to life with the engine, filled with thoughts I couldn't shake, thoughts I wasn't sure I wanted to. I'd known since I'd first developed feelings for Bruce that any relationship we'd ever have wouldn't be normal. For a long time, I hadn't even expected there to be anything more than friendship between Bruce and me, but now that there was… what was next? Was there anything next? Or would we be in this semi-secret relationship for however long it lasted? Would Bruce and I ever be married? Have children?

I shook my head as I turned into the parking lot of Wayne Enterprises. There was no reason to think about these things now, when I couldn't talk to Bruce about them. I tried to make myself look like I wasn't internally panicking as I ascended to the top floors, tried to make it seem like my mind was on business; I flipped through the notes on my phone until I found the meeting for today. Bruce was meeting with a man from Europe, a man with a last name I had no idea how to pronounce. I tried several different pronunciations as I headed down to the meeting room, but luckily there was no need for me to worry as he was gone.

"How did I go?" I asked.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Are you all right?"

I sighed, ran the fingers of one hand back through my hair. "I'm fine—it's not something to talk about here. How did the meeting go?" I asked again, putting more emphasis on the question.

"It went fine, but his ideas about the implementation of this device are… suspicious to say the least."

"All right, so not him."

"Not him."

I looked down at my phone, bringing up the list of potential investors almost without conscious thought. "Next up is Miranda Tate. You have a lunch with her the day after tomorrow. I already gathered as much information about her as I could. The file's back at the manor." Bruce nodded, and I continued speaking because keeping my thoughts on work was helping keep them away from my mother's words. "As for today, there's nothing else scheduled and I did all of my running around already."

Bruce started walking back towards the elevator and I fell in beside him, reflecting just how much time I spent going back and forth these days. I knew we were headed home, but I also knew he was going to pick up his initial line of questioning as soon as we were alone.

"What happened at lunch?" he asked as the elevator doors closed.

"I—nothing happened. It was just something my Mom said and it's sticking with me." I tried to keep my tone light so he didn't think it was a big deal and he would stop asking me about it.

"What did Naomi say?"

"Bruce—" He gave me a stern look and I knew I wasn't getting out of this. I sighed and rubbed the back of my hand over my forehead, my phone still clutched in my fingers. "She was asking about why I hadn't dated anyone since Sam and why I wasn't thinking about settling down and starting a family and I started wondering if… if those things were even a possibility for me anymore, if they were things you wanted or if things were going to stay the same." The words had come out in a bit of rush, but Bruce didn't have any trouble following. His jaw clenched and his shoulders rose a bit, the way they did when he was upset, when he was putting up his walls to shut himself off. "I'm not even sure that's the life I want any more Bruce, but it would be nice to know if it's an option or not. It's not like I'm getting any younger here."

I watched as Bruce finished putting those walls up: his face went completely blank except for something hot burning behind his eyes. It was the same expression he'd worn as Batman, when he was angry but trying to not let his emotions control him. Knowing he was likely to remain silent for quite some time, I huffed and crossed my arms, grateful to get away when the elevator opened. He climbed into the passenger seat of my car without a word and he stared straight ahead the entire drive home.

He'd talk about it when he was ready, but I was pretty sure I knew how that conversation would go.

-

_Three years and six months since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Three years and six months since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

"Have you met with Ms. Tate?"

"I haven't had the pleasure. She does all her business through a proxy when she's out of the country and she has plans to be out of the country for quite some time yet. I did speak with her over the phone when we were trying to set up the initial meeting between her and Bruce, a meeting she neglected to inform us would actually be between Bruce and her proxy." I was still a little bitter about that incident, something I didn't bother to hide from Alfred.

"Do you believe her interest in the project is genuine?"

I sighed and nodded, my face apologetic. "I do, Alfred. I think she was the best option out of all the candidates, and so does Bruce. She has a lot of money and a lot of history with Earth-friendly projects and the drive to see this done. She knows what she's talking about and, if the information I could find on her was any indication, she's willing to fight for what she believes in."

Alfred smiled at me over the counter as he continued to polish the silver. "She will work well with Master Bruce then, especially since he has so much experience dealing with stubborn women."

"Hey!"

"I did not say it was a bad thing."

I returned the smile with a small shake of my head and took a sip from my mug, savouring the rich taste of the tea.

The initial phases of construction for the energy project had finally—after much argument between the board members and wading through red tape—begun, funded by Miranda Tate's money and Bruce was spending much of his time with the scientists and researchers Wayne Enterprises had hired specifically for the project. It had been a long time since I had seen the fire in Bruce that the project brought, the belief he was doing the right thing. He had a goal, like he had when he'd returned to Gotham all those years ago, and it was one he was passionate about. This project, this reactor, would be the start of something that could save the world, provided everything went as planned and it just might save Bruce too.

Of course, Bruce's unflappable work ethic meant Alfred and I were seeing less and less of him as the project moved forward, as he became more and more engrossed. Alfred was handling this surprisingly well. I was not.

The go-ahead on the project had put a definitive end to our discussions and arguments about marriage and a family—a topic which had brought louder and more hostile bouts, despite my undecided stance on the necessity of those things in my future. I had known family was a sensitive topic for Bruce, but I hadn't thought his fears would extend to children of his own, especially since he had ceased with his most dangerous activities, but apparently it didn't matter. I was content to let the topic rest, however. Fighting with Bruce had lost something in the past months, some heat or heart or whatever had made pushing him worthwhile when we'd been standing in the cave or the bunker.

It was something Alfred had noticed, and something we'd discussed at length while we sat in the kitchen or the living room. I wasn't giving up, but Alfred thought, and perhaps he was right, that I had stopped fighting quite as hard. My being content to let a top rest, for example—that was not something which would have happened even a year ago.

"Ms. Black, are you quite well?"

I blinked rapidly a few times to bring myself from the reverie. "Yes, sorry. I was just lost in thought. What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven," he answered, concern in his eyes.

I sighed and got up from the stool. I set the crossword puzzle I'd been working on with occasional help from Alfred down and picked up my phone, sliding my thumb across the screen to awaken it. There were no messages from Bruce. "I suspect waiting up would be futile at this point. I'm going to head to bed. Night Alfred."

"Sleep well."

I gathered my things and gave the butler a small smile as I exited the kitchen, the warmth of the small room leaving my body almost immediately. As the house was so large and difficult to heat, even after being rebuilt, only the rooms we used most were kept warm. It was November and a persistent chill had settled around the place; I was shivering by the time I reached the master bedroom. Once I was changed and ready for bed, I climbed under the heavy covers and settled in somewhere near the middle of the bed, though sleep would not come easily. I dipped in and out of sleep until I heard the footsteps in the hall.

I didn't know what time it was when Bruce finally got home—I couldn't get my eyes to focus enough to make out the details of the clock on the bedside table, but I could make out the slight hitch in Bruce's step as he crossed the room to the closet. It had started a little while ago, about the time work had started on the project. He had injured his knee in the fall after saving Gordon's son years ago, but it hadn't really bothered him until now. Perhaps it was the stress or the lack of intense use. I heard the small intake of breath that meant pain as he climbed into bed. It was worse than he was letting on.

"How is your leg?" I whispered when he was lying beside me.

Bruce gave no start, but then he'd probably known I was awake. "Sore."

I shifted over until I was close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "Have you gone to the doctor about it?"

One arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me close. He tucked his other arm under his pillow and I shimmied down so his elbow wouldn't be in danger of hitting my face. It was a familiar position, a comfortable one. I dropped my forehead against his chest, felt his heartbeat against my head, and curled my arms between us.

"Not yet," he said. "This is the worst it's been. I'll go if it doesn't get better."

His voice was thick with sleep, his words running together a little bit. It had been a long time since I'd heard exhaustion in his voice. "Okay." I rolled onto my other side, putting my back against his chest, Bruce's arm automatically tightening around me and a feather-light kiss appeared on my neck, the loose braid I wore my hair in while sleeping exposing the skin for such attention. "How did work on the project go?"

"As well as could be expected at this stage. Can we talk about it tomorrow?"

"Sure." He kissed my neck again, then my cheek and I slipped one of my legs between his, hooking my foot under his ankle. "Bruce?" The only response I got was the deep, even breaths meaning he was asleep. "I miss you," I whispered anyway.


	33. Dark Times in Peace

_Four years since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Four years since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

The day was gloomy: cloudy, constant drizzle, and the repeated thuds of my arrows hitting the target. There were no birds chirping, only muffled noise from the house, and since Wayne Manor was so far removed from the city, no sounds of cars driving back and forth along the damp roads. It matched my mood.

I drew another arrow from the quiver across my shoulders and pulled the bow back, blinking away the drops of the rain from where they'd accumulated on my eyelashes. Vision clear, I let the arrow fly, the sound if it hitting damn near close to the bullseye not as satisfying as it should have been. I'd been practicing archery for a couple years and I was good—better than Bruce at any rate—but I just wasn't getting any joy from it that day. It was more of a distraction, something to focus on so I wasn't thinking about it being the four year anniversary since Harvey's death, since Bruce decided to hang up the cape.

It was hard to avoid it, since the manor was awash with the staff for the party that evening, but I was doing my very best; the only place I could go to remove myself farther was the cave and Bruce didn't like it when I went down there. I thought he was still having trouble with his decision, but maybe… maybe it was me who still hadn't accepted his decision.

That realization was doing nothing to help my mood.

Gotham's crime rate had dropped significantly since Harvey Dent's death, and the passing of the Dent Act had eradicated organized crime in the city. People were moving to Gotham, instead of away from it, and there were tourists in the city, more than I could remember there being at any point in my life. Gotham was a different city and Bruce was a different man. He had thrown himself into the energy project—I could never remember the Wayne Enterprises classification, something about fission reactor—and with the funds from Ms. Tate and the increased interest from the board, the city, the country, and even the world, his work was already having an effect. Others were starting to look into clean energy with renewed vigour and I knew that pleased Bruce. He'd wanted to make a change, and he was.

But, as much as I pretended to be content, I wasn't. Not really.

Sure, I was happy Bruce was finding some sort of fulfillment, that he was finding a place in this new Gotham where he could do good, but it was a place I didn't feel I belonged. I could pretend as well as anyone—I did pretend, as I fielded phone calls and e-mails and collected dry cleaning and did paperwork. I had belonged in that world before Batman and maybe, maybe I would belong there still if I felt my presence had any bearing.

Bruce was working all the time, which I had expected. That was who he was. But we didn't even talk anymore, not really. Not about his work, not about the work I did for him. We certainly hadn't spoken about the possibility of children or marriage or even making our relationship public in recent memory; the few attempts following the initial discussion almost two years ago had all ended in fighting of some variety or periods of uncomfortable silence. So, aside from a few conversations with Alfred, I let it lie.

I was getting tired of waiting for Bruce to be ready to talk about it, though. I was getting tired of waiting for Bruce to be ready to take our relationship public. I was getting tired of my own inability to accept that things had changed for good.

An unexpected sob shook my body and the arrow I currently had aimed at the target went wide to the left, sailing into the grass. I dropped into a crouch and lowered my bow gently to the ground, covering my face with my hands as I began to cry. My cheeks were cold from the rain, my hair sticking to my cheeks and neck. I probably looked like a drowned rat.

"Ellie?"

I snapped back to my feet, grabbing my bow on the way up and turned to face Bruce, hoping the drizzle would conceal the tears and knowing it wouldn't. Bruce had known me long enough to know when I was crying regardless of how hard it was raining. "What?" My voice came out harsher than I meant it to. He hadn't done anything to make me angry today.

His dark eyes narrowed with concern as he closed the distance. He put his hands on my shoulders, squeezing gently. "What's the matter?"

I raised my eyebrow, my mouth twisting to a sarcastic set without any conscious thought. "Nothing new." I waved it away and wiped at my eyes with my free hand. "I don't want to fight about it. Not today."

Bruce looked back at the house and then back to me, his hands sliding down my arms to my wrists. I let him take the bow from my fingers and lead me to the edge of the range where we'd set up a small tent. There was a chair and a table underneath it now, for when Alfred wanted to watch us practice. Bruce placed my bow on the table, both his hands coming to rest on my arms again. The contact was unexpectedly comforting and I felt myself leaning towards him. Bruce's arms moved around me, one around my shoulders and the other around my waist, and pulled me close, a shaky sigh escaping my lips as I curled against his chest, my head on his shoulder and my arms between us. The rain picked up as we stood under the tent, the drops slapping loudly against the canopy above us, streaming off the sides, and making the moment feel infinitely more private. I felt Bruce's lips on my temple and I closed my eyes.

"Let's forget about the party tonight," he said suddenly.

It took me a few seconds to process what he'd said. I pushed away from Bruce just enough so I could look up at him, one eyebrow raised. "What? Can we even do that?"

He pushed some of my wet hair away from my face, tucking the loose strands behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek. "Why couldn't we?"

I felt myself smiling, but I was suspicious of the change of attitude—some of the more charming facets of Bruce's personality had definitely rubbed off on me. "Okay," I said, fingers splaying across his chest as I pushed myself father back. "Say we skip the dressing up, the boring speeches, what are we going to do instead?"

"Go somewhere they'll never think of looking for us."

My smile grew despite efforts to keep it in check. Bruce leaned down and kissed me, just a quick touch of lips between our smiles, but I grabbed the front of his shirt as he made to pull back and kissed him again, deeper. His hands returned to my face, fingers in the hair behind my ears and thumbs tracing the line of my jaw and sending shivers along my skin. When I broke the kiss a moment later, I smiled up at Bruce and he kissed me quickly once more.

"Garage in thirty minutes," Bruce said as he started back to the house; he wasn't favouring his knee today.

I lifted a hand in acknowledgement and stepped back out into the rain to gather the arrows I'd fired before Bruce came outside.

-

The place no one would ever think to look for us turned out to be my loft. The place felt neglected as we walked in, a little dusty and forgotten; it hadn't been that long since I'd been there, only a week or so, but it felt like months. I took a moment to look around, at my desk, my couch, the rain on the windows.

Bruce set the take-out we'd picked up on the way over on the island in the kitchen to sort out the food and I retrieved drinks from the fridge: water for Bruce, Coke for me. I didn't have much food in the apartment, but there would always be water or pop around. Food in hand, we made our way down the two steps into the living room and settled on the couch, me turning the TV on out of habit, volume low. Bruce looked from the television to me, one corner of his mouth lifting. I answered it with a slight shrug and took a bite of my Pad Thai.

"So what do you want to talk about that can't be overheard?" I asked after we'd both had a few bites of food.

I took Bruce not questioning how I reached the conclusion as a compliment—it hadn't been that long since questioning me was the norm. He swallowed his current mouthful and matched my gaze. "The reactor."

"You want to talk about work?" I tried to keep my voice level, since any conversation was progress from where we'd been.

"In part. The reactor… we're getting close, Ellie."

I set my food down on the coffee table and turned on the couch so I was sitting facing Bruce, my back against the armrest. "Close to being finished?" Close would be relative. Close could still be months, a year. You didn't measure scientific progress in small units.

But Bruce nodded. "The funding we've received in addition to Ms. Tate's has been a great asset. You've seen the paperwork, you know what we've been able to do with it."

"Yes, but if the project is really almost done—Bruce, that's fabulous." I really meant it too.

He nodded again and something passed over his face. I knew the expression. It meant he was considering every outcome resulting from what he was about to say. I shifted a bit, trying to prepare myself for whatever Bruce was about to say.

"When the reactor is up and running, even just in the testing phase, we could talk about—" He gestured vaguely. I thought I knew what he was trying to say, but I didn't want to try and finish the thought. It was clear he was having difficulty with this and I knew he would have to get it out on his own. "Talk about a family." I opened my mouth in the wake of several emotions suddenly coursing through me, but Bruce continued speaking. "I am sorry I've made you feel like you don't belong, and that your thoughts don't matter, but—"

I pushed myself across the couch and crossed my legs again, so my knees were touching his leg. I put a hand on his leg. Bruce's own hand came to rest on my leg and I gave him a small smile. There was still a torrent of emotions bouncing around inside—happiness, relief, anger, sadness—and I wasn't sure what to do with them. "Bruce… I know any thought of a family is difficult for you, and I'm still not sure that's something I really want. It's been four years, but I'm still having trouble letting go of Batman, of that life."

Bruce's hand moved up to cup my cheek, his thumb running along my cheek under my eye. It was a touch reminiscent of several conversations we'd had in the years before, of when Bruce quelled my rampaging emotions with just a look, a touch. It helped now and I closed my eyes, leaning into the touch.

"I… I am as well. This is not how I pictured my life going, and that was not how I imagined I would let go of Batman."

I opened my eyes when Bruce removed his hand and I took it in both of mine, watching as he wrapped is fingers around mine. "We've been in each other's lives for a long time Bruce, and we still don't really know how to talk to each other, do we?"

Bruce laughed and used his hold on my hands to draw me forward. "I do love you," he said quietly.

Tears prickled at my eyes. He had never said it before, though I wasn't sure he was aware of that. I hadn't said it recently, either. My feelings for Bruce had been known for a long time, but maybe I should have said it more.

"I know. I love you too."

-

_Four years and eight months since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Four years and eight months since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

The reactor was huge, much bigger than I'd expected—though I didn't really know what I'd been expecting. I'd seen sketches of the actual machine, but the actual scale was something that had escaped me. It looked dangerous, and like something out of a science fiction movie. Bruce had had it built in a bunker similar to the one he'd used as Batman and standing in the room under the river… I felt comfortable. Even though I was trying to listen as Bruce explained the science behind the machine. I was not wired for scientific thinking.

I leaned against the console and watched him move around the room, his tie loose around his neck and the top button of his shirt undone. His jacket was folded over my arm. As he rounded the machine, his eyes met mine and I smiled at him.

"You're not paying attention."

"Not anymore, no."

He crossed the room and stood close, a hand on the console on either side of me. "Then why did you ask to come down here and see the reactor?"

I shrugged with one shoulder, a smirk on my face. "You know me—curious."

"Your curiosity could be dangerous."

"Well, it led to me climbing up onto the roof after Batman all those years ago. We wouldn't be here if I wasn't curious." The distance between us closed without much conscious thought on either side and I brushed my nose against his. I could see the green in his eyes, a faint scar below his lip from a piece of shrapnel. "But I haven't chased anymore bad guys down the street in the dark since you asked."

"For which I am eternally grateful."

"Why Mr. Wayne, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were being sarcastic."

Bruce gave a small laugh as his lips brushed mine. We kissed and I wrapped the arm not holding Bruce's jacket around his neck, sliding my fingers into his hair. "Is there any more business for tonight, or can we head home?" he asked when we parted a moment later.

It took a moment for my brain to catch up, as distracted as I was by the feeling of Bruce's hand on the small of my back. "No, no, we can go home."

"I don't mean to keep you, but there's something you might want to see."

Bruce and I turned towards the lift at the same time; I hadn't even heard it moving and I didn't think Bruce had either. Lucius Fox was standing there, tension and worry on his face. On a face normally reserved for warm and friendly smiles, it was an alien look. Bruce and I joined him on the lift and Lucius handed over a thick report in a plastic cover. I caught the title and my breath stuck in my throat. It was a paper about turning a reactor like the one in the Energy Project into a nuclear bomb.

"This was just sent to me from one of the physicists on the project. She says the science is sound."

I looked between Lucius and Bruce, covered my mouth with a hand. I may not have understood much about the technical side of the project, but I didn't have to for the idea of a nuclear bomb to set my mind racing. This project was supposed to be a thing for good. It was supposed to save Gotham, save the world. Why would someone even think about turning it into a weapon? Why would someone publish a paper on it?

"What are we going to do?" Lucius asked.

Bruce looked up from the paper, his face drawn and his eyes gone dark. He was silent for a long time, but I knew from the set of his mouth and his shoulders he'd already made up his mind and was just trying to decide the best way to break it to us. "We shut it down. This project can't be completed with this knowledge out there."

"Bruce—"

"I will not be responsible for it. We shut it down."

"We can't just stop the project," Lucius said, putting some force behind his words. "The progress is well-publicized and we are not the only ones who know it is near completion."

"Then we do it slowly, we sabotage it. We give the reactor problems to delay its completion and then we mothball the project and everything to do with it."

"This is not going to be good for the company."

"The company will recover."

Lucius looked like he was going to protest some more, but he nodded and hit the button to take the lift back to the surface. Bruce turned his eyes to me and I could see the anger and fear raging behind them. I reached out and took his hand, because it was just us and Lucius, and squeezed it, doing all I could to let him know I was there for him.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked quietly.

"It's all we can do."

I squeezed his hand again because I didn't know what else to say.

-

_Five years and one month since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Five years and one month since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

"You're giving up again."

"Eleanor, I've told you I will not be responsible for bringing a bomb into the city. I can't take the risk of someone else working out what Dr. Paval did, someone closer to Gotham. Ours is the only operational reactor of its kind—"

"I am not talking about the reactor! I think you did the right thing in shutting down the project, despite how much money the company has lost."

"Then what—"

"I am talking about you desire to do something good for Gotham! You gave up on Batman when you made him the villain Gotham needed and now you're giving up on doing work at Bruce Wayne! The city hasn't rejected you like they did Batman. There's no reason for you to give up and go into hiding this time, Bruce! You could still do good things!"

Bruce looked down at me, muscles bunching in his jaw and neck and his eyes narrowed in a glare. I didn't even remember how this fight had started. I didn't remember who started it, though it was probably me. It usually was. My hostility went largely unchecked these days.

Since receiving Dr. Paval's report from Lucius, Bruce had shut down, something inside him broken. It had only taken a few months to get the Energy Project fully abandoned by everyone involved, though there were a lot of questions being raised as to what could have gone wrong when things were going so well; fielding calls from reports and journalists did nothing to help my mood. To avoid being harassed in public by the inquisitive sect, Bruce was going out less and less and I'd cancelled more dinners, lunches, and meetings in the last few months than he'd actually attended. He was shutting himself inside Wayne Manor. He was hiding.

"Not if this reactor is turned into a bomb that could kill millions. This project was my idea, and I will be the one who is blamed and rightfully so."

"Forget the reactor for a moment! Damn it, Bruce, you are a brilliant man and you could do so much more! You and Lucius have shut the reactor down and no one can get to it without you or him. You get caught up in the details and miss the bigger picture sometimes Bruce. You're going to throw away everything because you're scared!"

"I can't let something meant to do good be turned into something so evil."

"Like Harvey?"

I knew the words would hurt. I'd meant them to. I watched the old pain cross Bruce's face and I didn't feel bad, not then. I would feel bad later, for turning something he considered a great failure of his against him, but if it got my point across, I could live with the guilt. Bruce's eyes narrowed further and I could see Batman in the look. He took a few steps closer to me and I held my ground, jaw set and a glare of my own in place.

"You didn't turn Harvey evil."

"I lost control of that situation. I will not lose control of this one."

"There is no situation to lose control of! You just need to make up some bogus press release to cover the reactor and then move on to another project, one that can't be turned into a bomb."

"Ellie—"

"Don't tell me it's not that easy, Bruce! It is!"

"It's not! I can't—"

I closed the distance between us and put my hands on his chest. He sighed and I felt some of the tension leak out of his body with his breath. My hands formed into fists around the fabric of his shirt and his hands dropped to my hips, fingers digging in. He put his forehead against mine. Out of habit, or of just being in close proximity to each other most of the time, our breathing matched and I calmed. Bruce did too. It wasn't even something we did consciously. Our holds on each other loosened but we didn't let go.

"This wasn't supposed to happen."

"I know." I slid my hands up and laced them around the back of his neck. "This doesn't have to be the end of anything, though."

"This is the end of something. There's no way around that."

I sighed and dropped my head to his shoulder before pushing back. He grabbed my hand before I could get out of range. I nodded my submission to the statement. I wouldn't fight him anymore about this tonight. Bruce didn't take anything lightly and it would take more than my words to convince him to move on from this, from the destruction of what he'd worked towards. Bruce pulled me back to him I let him. I wrapped my arms around his chest.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bruce. We'll get through this."

He kissed my forehead, my cheek. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I apologize all the time, but I really do mean it. I know there are those of you who will continue to read no matter how long it takes me to update, and for that I thank you, but I feel I owe you, and my other readers who drop in and drop out, another apology and a bit of an explanation.
> 
> I wish I could update this thing faster, but real life is starting to catch up. I work two jobs and I will be starting online courses soon. I also have a novel I'm working on and I'm hoping to finish the first draft by next January so I can enter it in Amazon's Breakthrough Novel Contest. Occasionally I like to do things other than read or write as well. Unfortunately, this means the fanfiction has got to come after everything else. I wish it wasn't so, but it is.
> 
> Don't worry about me abandoning this fic though—that's not going to happen.
> 
> Thanks again for reading.


	34. Almost Broken

_Six years and six months since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Six years and six months since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

I woke with a start, found myself tangled in the sheet and sweat dripping down between my shoulders blades. It had been another nightmare that woke me—something about stumbling around in darkness so thick I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, whispers I couldn't understand, and a crippling fear holding my heart in a cold grip. The dreams had become more frequent over the past few months, probably from due to stress, stress stemming from worry over Bruce.

With a sigh, I rolled over and found his side of the bed expectedly empty. I squinted at the clock on his bedside table. 3:30 am. Yup, sounded about right. I groaned and swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing when my back cracked. On my feet, I reached up to the ceiling and then down to my toes, stretching out the stiffness before I went looking for my wayward partner.

It wasn't much of a hunt. He only went one of two places when he couldn't sleep: the library or the study.

I found Bruce sitting at his desk in the study down the hall—the first place I looked—all the lights off except for the desk lamp, the small light casting a golden circle of light in the black. His face was illuminated by the computer screen, hair a mess from the short amount of sleep he'd had, and I knew he was doing more research, trying to find another project to capture his attention like the Energy Project had. He'd been looking for over a year, starting his search after a brief period of lamenting his losses and all he'd worked for, and had found nothing to hold his interest for more than a couple months. He'd stopped going to the office, stopped going to dinners or lunch, stopped doing anything except research. He'd stopped leaving the house except for the odd stroll around the grounds and he only took visitors if they were scheduled by me—I was still his personal assistant, after all. He was more consumed with his work now than he had been when the Energy Project had still been viable, but there was something far more desperate in his actions. Something that scared me.

I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms, watching his brow furrow in concentration, listening to the soft clacking of the keys on the keyboard. There were dark shadows under his eyes and something almost sallow in his cheeks. I could just see the top of his cane where it was propped against the desk. He'd started walking with it a short time ago, the only admittance he'd ever made that the pain in his knee was bothering him. Bruce wouldn't let me get a doctor out to the house to look at the joint. He insisted it was nothing, just pain from inactivity.

"You might as well stop lurking in the door, Ellie. I know you're there."

I sighed and pushed off the doorframe, padding across the hardwood almost silently. "I wasn't lurking. Okay, maybe I was, but I didn't want to disturb you."

Bruce looked up when I leaned against the desk. He sighed and sat back, the chair creaking slightly as he moved. "You wouldn't have disturbed anything," he said grudgingly.

I moved to stand behind Bruce and wrapped my arms around his neck, my eyes on the computer screen. Bruce reached up and wrapped a hand around my forearm, his thumb brushing against the inside of my wrist. "I don't understand half of what I'm reading here, but from what I can gather, this is a large-scale salt water purification system? How is that nothing? This would be amazing."

Bruce nodded. "It's still in the early design stages."

"But it looks promising?"

"It does. The company needs more money if they want to continue their research and take the project to prototype phase."

"Sounds like a good opportunity for Wayne Enterprises."

Bruce sighed and I closed my arms a bit, a semblance of a hug. His hand flexed against my arm. "I doubt they board will trust my judgement with the company money after I decided to mothball the Energy Project. I'm not even sure Lucius would trust my judgement."

"Of course Lucius is going to trust your judgement. He knows why you did what you did."

"I know," he said, sighing again. He rubbed at his face with his free hand and I kissed his cheek. "There's still a lot of research to do on this one, regardless of what the board will think. I may come across a way to convince them to support this."

"So… are you going to send this one to Lucius?" I asked tentatively.

My question was met with silence and I was afraid I wasn't going to get an answer, that I'd pushed too far and triggered something. After almost two minutes of silence, Bruce said, "Not yet. I want to do some more research first. This is a promising project and I don't want to get ahead of it. I'll contact the company and see what they can tell me."

I smiled and kissed Bruce's cheek again, his hand tightening on my arm in response. "I think it's been over a year since I heard you sound so hopeful."

Bruce gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Cautiously hopeful."

"It's progress nonetheless." I slid around Bruce and settled in his lap, my weight mostly on his uninjured leg. One arm went around my waist and the other hand came to rest on my thigh, under the hem of the baggy t-shirt I wore as pyjamas. I hooked an arm around his neck and leaned into him. "We could take a vacation you know, get away from Gotham, from everything for a while." Bruce turned so he could put his forehead against mine, a small sigh escaping his lips. "Yeah, I know you don't want to leave Gotham. You realize you haven't left since you went to Hong Kong to get Lau back?"

"There's been no reason to leave."

"This could be a reason."

"Ellie…"

I sighed and closed the distance, kissing Bruce quickly on the lips. "I'll stop pushing, but you should try and get some sleep."

I made to get to my feet, but Bruce tightened his grip on me and pulled me closer, bringing a smile to my lips. The discovery of another project he liked had breathed some life back into Bruce, just as it did every time he got a fresh lead. I wasn't going to get my hopes up that it would last, it never did. Something in Bruce had broken with what he saw as the defeat of the Energy Project. He didn't like that something was broken and he was fighting to fix it, but it was slow work, slow and torturous, but there were moments where it actually seemed like he would get better one day. Moments where interaction between us, between him and Alfred, wasn't tense. Moments where I didn't feel like leaving, like giving up. He was aware of what his mood and his actions were doing to me, to Alfred, and he knew I'd thought about giving up. As horrible as it was, I'd told him as much during a particularly bad fight.

Bruce raised a hand to my face and turned my lips to his, his fingers lingering along my jaw, sliding back into my hair. The kiss was soft and slow, something apologetic as if he'd known what I was thinking, not that it would have been a stretch. The fight hadn't been that long ago.

"I'm not tired."

I smiled against his lips. "Don't you have research to do?"

He kissed me again and my laughter was lost in his mouth. "You keep me hopeful, Ellie."

"You mean my incessant nagging is good for something?" I asked with a smirk.

"It appears so."

As we kissed again, I found hundreds of questions flooding through my mind, questions about Bruce's state of mind, about the project, about what was next, his research, his decision to turn himself into a hermit. I wanted to pull away, to break the contact so I could ask the questions, so I could get some answers, but as Bruce deepened the kiss and as his hands slid along my legs, I found I was starting to forget those questions. I didn't care what was next, not right then. It had been so long since Bruce and I had been like this with one another. I didn't want to ruin the moment. The questions could come later, would come later.

-

_Seven years and three months since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Seven years and three months since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

"So what does he do in the manor all the time? No one has seen him outside the manor in almost a year. He doesn't even go out into the grounds anymore. For that matter, what do you do in the manor all day? You only venture into the city like once or twice a week and the only role you fulfill as Bruce's assistant is to field calls from the media looking for a juicy rumour about his isolation."

I gave Sarah an indignant look across the table. "What is this? An interview?"

Sarah frowned at me. "No. Eleanor, I'm just worried."

"My mother called you, didn't she?"

Sarah looked sheepish and I knew I was right. I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Sarah, I'm fine. Bruce is fine. He's just having… trouble since the Energy Project failed and he hasn't found another project to take its place."

"What about the water purification one or whatever it was the press conference was about?"

I sighed again and rubbed at my face, the sting of the last failed project still fresh in my mind, even though it had been almost eight months since it had plummeted. "The company behind the project was funneling money from Wayne Enterprises into several less-than-savoury pursuit and trying to cover it up. Bruce noticed a discrepancy in the financial reports and I chased it down. He hasn't been the same since."

Sarah gave me a curious look and reached across the table to take my hand, squeezing mine when she had it. "You haven't been the same since."

I shook my head and gave her a sad smile. "Look, Sarah, it's not that I don't trust you with this information—"

"But you don't want to talk about it. That's perfectly fine." She gave me a brilliant smile, once I actually felt like returning. "I am more than capable of providing conversation on another topic."

Sarah started telling me about the latest vacation her and Aaron had taken in great detail, to Egypt I thought. Though I was listening, my mind also began to wander, thinking over how much Sarah had changed in the last few years. Her and Aaron had gotten married—eloped, actually, much to the chagrin of their parents—and she was happier than I could remember seeing her in a long time, especially since she had free reign to decorate the brownstone her and Aaron had moved into. She had, by all appearances, forgotten about the trauma the city had been through and she wasn't the only one. The residents of Gotham were resilient, and most of them had bounced back to normal life, just like Sarah.

"Eleanor, are you listening to me?"

I shook my head and smiled. "Yeah, sorry."

Sarah's expression turned sympathetic. "I can't imagine what you're going through with all this. I know how much you care about Bruce. It must hurt to see him so out of sorts."

"I don't know what to do," I admitted, bypassing the need to deny that I felt anything for Bruce beyond friendship. "He's broken, Sarah."

Sarah dropped some money on the table to pay for lunch and gestured for me to get up. Knowing what she was doing, I rolled my eyes, but got to my feet and gathered my things. We left the restaurant, Sarah leading the way even though I knew where we were going. Sure enough, we rounded the corner and stepped into the nearest park, walking immediately for the swings. I chuckled and dropped onto one of the swings, Sarah taking the other, and we began to move back and forth with a practiced and alternating rhythm.

"Perhaps you need to get out of the manor more?" Sarah suggested. "Leave Bruce to his moping if nothing you're doing is working. He has Alfred. You don't need to end your life to support him."

"I'm not… it's not that easy, Sarah."

"I know. But I'm here if you want to talk about it more." She reached across the space between the swings and wiggled her fingers. I took her hand and the swings moved erratically for a moment before falling in line. "I'm not going to tell anyone what's going on."

"I know Sarah." I smiled at her and squeezed her hand before taking my hand back and wrapping it around the chain of the swing. "I'm worried that he'll stop looking for something to work on, that he's not going to come back from this."

"Have you told him that?"

"We can't have a conversation without fighting, so no, I haven't told him that."

"Maybe you should, but from what I know about Bruce, something will come along that will bring him back to himself."

The next smile I gave was a little bitter, because I was beginning to believe all that would bring Bruce back was some attack on Gotham, some unfathomable evil like the Joker that would shake Batman from the depths of the cave. It was terrible of me, but I almost wished something of the like would happen.

-

_Seven years and ten months since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Seven years and ten months since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

"He's gone, isn't he Alfred?"

The butler looked down at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. He said nothing.

We were standing in the hall outside the library, where Bruce was currently sleeping; regardless of Batman being long out of the picture, Bruce still rarely slept in his own bed. I was leaning against the wall with my arms crossed and Alfred was in front of me, looking concerned, his face heavily lined. Alfred looked worn and exhausted and had for the past few years. Worrying about Bruce was taking its toll on him. I knew it was taking a toll on me as well, though it wasn't as noticeable. Mostly I was just tired. But I wouldn't leave any more than Alfred would.

"I would not go so far as to say that, Ms. Black, but I do believe he is lost without direction."

"But why has he stopped looking? Why has he given up looking for some direction?"

"Like you and me, he is tired. He will find a cause again, or it will find him."

"I'm more worried about a cause finding him." I sighed and pushed myself off the wall, turning to look around the doorframe, to look at Bruce. He'd grown a beard, lost weight, was dressed like an old man. His cane was propped against the couch near his head. "If something dangerous finds him and he's not ready…"

"Who says the direction will be dangerous?"

I raised an eyebrow at Alfred as I turned back to face him. "When something finds Bruce, it is always dangerous."

Alfred nodded once, to say he knew I was right and that he agreed. "You are thinking of the masked mercenary we are beginning to hear about, are you not?"

"Yes, that is who I was thinking of."

"Have you come across anything to suggest he might be headed for Gotham?"

"Other than his name mentioned a few times in conjunction with Daggett's or one of the slimy bastard's companies? No. No reason, except for the masked weirdos always seeming to end up in Gotham."

"Including Master Wayne?"

I snorted. "Yes, including Bruce." I started towards the kitchen, Alfred following. "But I can't be the only one thinking this."

"No, you are not. The coverage of this Bane has been worrying me as well."

In the kitchen, I took up a standard position at the island as Alfred set about making tea. I rubbed at my face and wondered if telling Bruce about Bane would get any sort of response. I dropped my head onto the table and remained there for a few minutes before I got back to my feet and returned to the library, bypassing my position of surveillance outside the door and marching right up to the couch. I stared down at Bruce, squinting, trying to see the man as he'd been when he returned to Gotham.

I couldn't.

I could leave. I could walk away from it all, have a life. I could meet someone and have kids, a family, have everything I was expected to want. There was nothing saying I had to stay, least of all Bruce, who had told me more than I once to go, to leave him to his misery. But I wasn't going to give up or walk away. Bruce wasn't the man he had been, but I loved him. It would hurt me to walk away, and it would hurt him too. The life he'd been expecting to have had fallen apart and then the only thing he'd seen as the way to personal salvation had failed. He hadn't been able to find his footing again. As much as I felt like doing it sometimes, leaving would be cruel.

"Ellie?"

I started as I realized Bruce had woken up. "Uh, hi." I smiled and settled on the floor beside the couch, far enough back that I could look Bruce in the eye. Propping my head up on my hand, my elbow on the couch, I met Bruce's steady gaze. "How is it today?"

"Worse."

I reached up with my other hand and took Bruce's. "You know there's a rumour going around that you have eight-inch long fingernails? And that you've been horribly disfigured like the Phantom in Phantom of the Opera."

One corner of Bruce's mouth lifted in a smile. "As long as no one expects me to start singing."


	35. The Ghosts of Wayne Manor

_Eight years since the death of Harvey Dent._   
_Eight years since the last confirmed sighting of Batman._

As it had been for the past eight years, the garden was decorated with golden light and filled to the brim with Gotham's political and financial elite, eating, drinking, remembering the man who had done Gotham so great a service so long ago. Smells from the various platters of food being carried through the crowd filled the air, along with a constant buzz of chatter, and a large portrait of Harvey Dent sat on the steps leadings up to the manor, his smiling visage overseeing the proceedings; it was a different portrait from the year before.

The night would have been unbearably warm had it not been for the breeze coming off the river. Even so, it was warm enough to make standing amongst the guests at the Harvey Dent Day celebration uncomfortable, and I hadn't the started the evening in the best of moods. I hadn't started many days in a good mood lately. Lack of sleep will do that to a person.

I lasted fifteen minutes amongst the crowd, after the mayor and Commissioner Gordon had given their speeches, smiling and engaging in small talk, before I disengaged from the pressing heat and found a place along the periphery to sit and sip at the glass of red wine in my hand.

It took my father less than thirty seconds to find me—he'd always had a knack for doing so when I was in a bad mood. Over the past eight years, there had even been a few instances where he'd called me, just to make sure I was okay, sometimes in the middle of the night when he somehow known I'd been awake. He called it a father's intuition, and I didn't doubt it, but I thought it made of had more to do with him being the doctor who had saved me as a baby, before he and Naomi had adopted me. Whatever the reason, I had always been glad of it.

"You are too young to let your feelings for him to hold you back," he said after a moment of silence.

I looked sideways at my dad and frowned, though I didn't refute his assumption I had feelings for Bruce. While I'd never told either of my parents outright that Bruce and I had a relationship, I'd suspected they'd known for some time. "I can't leave," I finally replied. "I don't want to leave."

"I know." He took a sip from the drink in his hand. "But I felt I should remind you." He met my gaze, his face soft and full of the concern he'd been keeping to himself. He sighed and squeezed my knee with his free hand. "Your mother and I worry about you. You've been cooped up here fielding the interest of the press and protecting Bruce for the past three years—Sarah's barely seen you and we certainly don't see you as much as we used to. Are you taking care of yourself?"

An unexpected bout of anger surged inside. I shoved it down, shook my head. "I run, I still go to my martial arts class, I practice archery, I read, I help Lucius when he needs it—Dad, I am where I need to be, where I want to be." I drained the remainder of my beverage and left the glass on the table to my left as I rose to my feet. "And though I recognize your need and right to worry about me, I really wish you, Mom, and Sarah would let me live my life the way I'm choosing to."

My father rose to his feet and met my steady gaze. For a moment, I watched various emotions play over my father's face, guessed at the words he was about to say.

"As long as you're happy," he said, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. "You mother and I are headed to Europe soon, and the offer still stands if you want a vacation."

"I am, and I know."

I gave him a watery smile before I turned and headed for the main house, weaving through the crowd and giving only brief responses to efforts to get my attention. Beyond the tents and the crowds, the air was more temperate and I inhaled a deep breath as I moved for the kitchen, following the flock of wait staff. I slipped inside the busy room and found Alfred, standing near the sink, his sharp eyes watching the black and white clad men and women flutter around, grabbing trays and hurrying back out to the celebration.

"Is his food ready to go up yet?" I asked Alfred, taking up a position leaning on the counter beside him.

"Not quite. I will have Mrs. Bolton bring it up when it is." He watched me as I hovered near the doorway, turned towards the main staircase. "Ms. Black, is something the matter?"

"I'm not sure I want to see him right now, Alfred. We haven't said more than three words to each other in days, and when I tried to talk to him before the party, I ended up yelling at him. He didn't even do anything to make me upset this time." I ran my hands backwards over my hair, which I'd pulled back instead of doing anything fancy with it. I inhaled and exhaled sharply, pressed my lips into a thin line. "I'll be upstairs somewhere if you need me."

I took in Alfred's nod before I moved into the hall and climbing the steps. I wanted badly to kick off my heels, but there were guests mingling in the house, admiring the art and furniture and everything that Bruce and Alfred had filled the house with. One man—an older gentleman who seemed to have consumed liberal amount of wine—was sleeping in one of the chairs in the library. I moved slowly up the stairs, trying to avoid eye contact and the conversation that would follow, but I was stopped by the appearance of one woman in particular, someone I had only seen in photographs and dealt with through a liaison; a woman who had been trying to get a hold of Bruce ever since she'd arrived in Gotham a short while ago. She had mostly dealt with Alfred.

"Ms. Tate," I said by way of greeting.

She gave me a small nod and a smile. "Ms. Black I presume-how lovely to finally meet with you face to face."

I forced a smile onto my face, did my best to make it look genuine. "How are you enjoying the Harvey Dent Day Celebration?"

"It is quite a sombre occasion, though Mr. Wayne has certainly spared no expense in making sure Gotham's hero is remembered well. It pains me that I was never able to meet the man himself."

"Mr. Dent was an interesting man. Determined and ruthless when it came to his job, but he was also oddly reserved. I wish I could have spent some more time with him before he died." It wasn't a lie, but thinking of Harvey bought thoughts of how he had been towards the end, and that meant thinking of the Joker and, though the madmen had been locked away and quiet for eight years, he still terrified me.

"I don't suppose," Ms. Tate said, drawing me out of my reverie, "that would be able to make Mr. Wayne see me? I have important things I wish to discuss with him."

I took a step to one side, indicating my plans to keep moving towards my destination. "I haven't been able to make Mr. Wayne do anything for years, Ms. Tate, and I doubt tonight will be any different. If he'll see me, I'll inquire on your behalf."

Her eyes narrowed as she watched me move, the small gesture changing something fundamental in her face, something I couldn't place, but then, I didn't spend a lot of time trying.

"Thank you, Ms. Black."

I gave a nod of acknowledgement and then pressed on, the clicking of my heels loud in my ears. At the door to the East Wing, the area where Bruce spent most of his time, I knocked and called out for Mr. Wayne, enough times to make a show for those close enough to hear, before I scoffed and marched down the hall to the upstairs study. After making sure no one had wandered into the room, I knocked on the other door and waited.

"I asked you not to come up while the guests were still here," Bruce said when he opened the door.

I looked up at him, indignant, and walked passed him into the room. I heard him shut the door behind me and knew he followed me back to the area where he'd been reading. I leaned on the back of one of the wingback chairs as Bruce sat in the other one, his cane propped on the table beside him. He scratched at the goatee he'd grown as we stared each other down. It had become our routine after yelling or fighting.

I broke first this time, walked around the chair and sunk into it, removing my feet from the uncomfortable shoes and curling them up underneath me in a position that had been more comfortable when I was younger. "Miranda Tate is here, did you know that?"

"I didn't know for sure, but I assumed she'd show up."

"She wants to talk to you." Bruce shook his head and I waved away whatever protest was on his lips. "I didn't tell or promise her anything. She's still being barred at the gates as it were, but would it really be a terrible thing if you did talk to her?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Then you should talk to her. She's already assured both me and Alfred she's not looking for her money back, or for any sort of revenge. She's not mad about the project. I believe she wants to discuss further opportunities."

"I don't want to discuss further opportunities with her or with anyone."

"So are you just going to stay in this wing of the manor forever?" I snapped, my conversation with my father and all previous conversations from the same vein with my mother and Sarah coming back. "Are you just going to forget about the outside world, about the city you wanted to save?" In a fluid motion, I got to my feet and padded away, heading towards the main entrance to the wing of the manor, my hands on my hips. I could hear Bruce following, his gait more laboured than I could ever remember it sounded. "They are down there remembering a lie and you let them do it. You helped set up the lie of Harvey Dent and then you took the blame and you vanished."

"This is still hard on you."

"Yeah, it is." I turned around to face him and found Bruce standing close than I'd expected. "Isn't it hard for you to stay up here, to watch from the roof, knowing what they believe is a lie?"

Bruce stepped closer. "Sometimes—all the time." He raised the hand not wrapped around the cane and touched my cheek. I leaned into the contact, a small sigh escaping my lips, and Bruce moved his hand down to where my neck joined my shoulder. "We've been over this a thousand times, Ellie, why bring this up now? Why bring it up again?"

"Because it feels like something is changing, Bruce, although I'm probably just projecting that."

His fingers slid behind my neck and with just a tiny change in pressure, he drew me across the final distance between us. "You are the most stubborn person I have ever met, Ellie, and you refuse to let things go."

I involuntarily gave a bitter laugh. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

A faint smile crossed his lips. "Both, depending on the situation." He put his forehead against mine then tilted his head so he could kiss me, warm and slow, a familiar and welcome gesture. "You spoke to one of your parents tonight," he stated when we parted.

"Dad. How did you know?"

"You only get this worked up after they speak to you."

The sudden sound of the doorknob turning sent me back another step from Bruce, to a distance seemingly professional. When whoever it was hesitated—probably juggling the tray laden with Bruce's dinner—I gave Bruce another quick kiss and told him I was headed to bed before scurrying back out the way I'd come, snagging my abandoned shoes on the way.

-

A faint noise woke me.

I sat upright in the bed, blinking furiously to clear the sleep from my eyes and find the source of the noise. It took longer than it should have for my eyes to pick out Alfred standing in the doorway, illuminated by the dim light of the hallway. Panic clutched my heart with sudden ferocity.

"Alfred? What is it? What's wrong? Is Bruce okay? Did something happen?"

"No, Ms. Black. I am sorry to alarm you. I was looking for Master Bruce."

I rubbed my eyes as I got to my feet, adjusting my t-shirt as it fell around my thighs. "He's not in his chair?"

"No, and he is not in his makeshift archery range, either. I found the door open and thought he had made it here to sleep tonight."

I touched Bruce's side of the bed and found it cold. If he had been there, it hadn't been recently; I moved enough in my sleep some nights to toss the covers across the whole bed. "He didn't sleep here." A sudden idea struck me and I moved passed Alfred, leaving the butler in my wake as I padded down the hall.

About halfway there, Alfred figured out where I was headed. "He may have gone down there after the incident with the pearls."

"What incident?"

"After you retired for the evening, the maid who brought him supper apparently went exploring and stole Mrs. Wayne's pearls from the safe."

"The uncrackable safe?"

"The very same."

I looked at Alfred over my shoulder as I came to a stop in front of the main entrance to the cave, casting my eyes to the piano keys and finding the thin layer of dust disturbed. I hadn't been down there recently and Alfred cleaned in here once a week. Something inside me expanded and I felt joy. Surely he was just tracking the pearls, maybe trying to figure out who the woman who stole them was, but this was the first time he'd set foot down there in recent memory.

"It seems we've found him," I said. I almost pressed the keys on the piano to open the door again, but stopped. "I… Perhaps we should leave him to this? Whatever this is?"

"I will go down in the morning if he is still there, Ms. Black. You, on the other hand, need to return to bed. It has been too long since you slept the entire night through and I am sorry to have woken you."

I smiled. "I'm sure I would have awoken shortly anyway."


	36. The Big Fat Spread

Bruce was still down in the cave after I'd showered and found some coffee. By the time I had dressed and made it back downstairs, there was a pale light creeping over the horizon, a light leaving the halls of the mansion in semi-darkness and casting strange shadows through the windows. I didn't pause to watch the sunrise. I headed straight for the entrance to the cave. I hit the keys on the piano in the study without looking and headed down into the chill darkness, following a path I hadn't walked in a long, long time. The way was familiar and the stone of the stairs and the metal of the elevator cold and welcome on my bare feet; a smile ghosted across my face as random memories of the space sped through my mind.

The elevator car clicked into place at the bottom of the shaft and I spied Bruce through the brick archways, sitting in front of the array of computers on top of the submergible block of black material, his face illuminated by the glow of the screens and his brow furrowed in concentration. For a moment, I just watched, unsure about the surge of joy I was feeling over Bruce being back in this habitat, and hesitant to let it show. We'd fought about it so much and I'd gone back and forth about how I felt about it, about how supportive I was, but seeing him sitting there, even if he still had the goatee and still walked with the cane, even if he didn't look like himself, it felt good. It felt… not right, exactly, but like something had clicked into place.

It was only after a brief span of time I noticed Alfred standing behind Bruce. There was a strange look on the butler's face and I could hear the faint murmur of conversation. I was too far away to hear what was being said. Curious, I stepped out of the elevator car and took a few silent steps across the rocks. I wasn't noticed as I wedged myself into the shadows.

"I never wanted you to come back to Gotham," Alfred was saying. He must have been talking about Bruce's sojourn abroad, when he'd trained to become Batman. I remembered talking to Alfred during that time, meeting the butler for the odd lunch after I'd run into Bruce in London. I remember him being… oddly content with Bruce's disappearance, though he was still worried for the wellbeing of his charge. "I knew there was nothing here for you but pain and suffering and tragedy—the memory of your parents haunted you all through childhood and I saw it even when you didn't want me to. I didn't want you to come back to that. I wanted more for you than that. I still do."

"Alfred—"

"But you came back and, despite all evidence to the contrary, despite your actions as Batman, you started to make a life for yourself, started to achieve something more than an existence filled with revenge and misery."

"Rachel died and Ellie…"

Something inside constricted at the way Bruce said my name. I leaned a little heavier against the wall and tried to keep quiet. However, Bruce didn't continue speaking. Alfred filled the silence.

"You hung up your cape and cowl and you mourned for Rachel, but you also took comfort in Eleanor's presence, and I thought you might come back—she used to bring something out in you, before you decided Batman was no longer needed."

Bruce winced at the words "used to." I closed my eyes and took the deepest breath I could without making noise. Bruce and I had brought out a fire in each other—a fire born mainly of stubbornness and intensity—and we'd clung to the memory of it for years.

"The point, Master Wayne, is when you were gone, I hoped you had moved on and found something to live for. I hoped you had a wife and children, a family. I hoped for the same again eight years ago. You are still capable of more than this self-induced exile Bruce, and you still deserve it, regardless of how grievous you believe your mistakes to be."

Alfred started towards the elevator, breaking off the conversation and giving Bruce little time to respond. Part of my brain was telling me to move, but the other part was absorbed with the look on Bruce's face, a look of self-loathing and anger and pain. I almost headed for him—I wanted to go to him—but something held me back long enough for Alfred to find me, standing in the shadows near the brick arches making up the support for the ground underneath the mansion. He met my eyes and I bit my bottom lip, unsure what to say.

"Ms. Black," he said quietly.

My eyes burned, but I shook it off and, after a moment of awkward hesitation I blazed ahead, switching to a topic rather far off the conversation I'd eavesdropped on. "I think I'll leave him to it. Did he find something on the woman who stole the pearls?"

Alfred gestured for me to step back into the elevator car ahead of him and I tucked myself into the corner. "He did. Master Bruce was able to identify the woman as Ms. Selina Kyle, a proficient burglar, and find her address, but he does not seem terribly bent on catching her."

I frowned and leaned back against the low wall of the lift car. "Does he think something else is up?"

"As she lifted his prints from the safe the pearls were in, your assumption does not seem out of the question. However, as you heard, we were not exactly discussing Ms. Kyle and her crimes."

"Alfred…" I was unsure what to say, so I bit my bottom lip and remained silent until the elevator had reached the mansion proper, with what I hoped was a meaningful look on my face. "I'm not going anywhere Alfred, as much as I may have wanted to over the past eight years, not unless Bruce wants me to go. I know—"

The butler reached out and put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. The small and rather enigmatic smile on his lips managed to calm me, and for the first time, I wondered if Bruce had picked up the expression from Alfred.

-

When the sun was all the way up and the hour was respectable, I headed into the city aimed for Wayne Enterprises. Lucius had left a message on my phone at some point, asking if I had time to assist with the transfer of some more Wayne Enterprises merchandise into Applied Sciences. I didn't know if Bruce was aware of Lucius keeping the division of the company open, and I was certain he wasn't aware of Lucius turning the place into a veritable armoury, but I figured as long as the dangerous items were kept out of the public's, and probably the wrong, hands, it was good work. Unfortunately, as it was all hush-hush, it meant all the paperwork had to be done by Lucius and me, the only two people with the knowledge of the department's existence; most of the transfer orders were filed under "designation for secure storage" and no one questioned it, especially when the order came from the CEO.

When all the paperwork was done and the hard copies were filed away in the cavernous space, I headed back to my loft to retrieve a dress and jewellery for the charity fundraiser/masquerade ball being held by Miranda Tate that evening. I'd accepted the invitation on behalf of Bruce, though I mentioned it was highly unlikely he would come, and agreed to take the place of my parents, who would send their apologies along with a healthy donation to whichever charity Ms. Tate had chosen to receive the money raised. It had been a while since I'd been to a party and part of me was looking forward to it. I may have also felt like I owed Ms. Tate something for the way her joint venture with Wayne Enterprises had gone. It didn't make any sense, my feeling like that, but I was going with it.

There was a police car parked outside the manor when I drove up the lane, sitting in front of the front door. I left my car parked parallel to the cruiser and headed for the entrance, where I intercepted the cop belonging to the car. He was only an inch or so taller than me and he was young, approachable.

"Good afternoon, Officer… Blake," I said, peering at the nametag on his uniform. "Can I help you with anything?"

"No, I think I got everything I came here for, Ms…?"

"Eleanor Black. I'm Mr. Wayne's personal assistant." I took his offered hand after adjusting my hold on the dress in my arms, and shook it, a friendly smile on my face. "Were you able to see Mr. Wayne? He doesn't like unscheduled appointments."

"So I've heard, and yes, I was." Officer Blake looked at me, a bizarre expression on his face, like he was searching my features for a clue to a question he was afraid to ask. "He wasn't what I expected—"

"Well, you can't trust everything you read."

"I suppose not. How long have you worked for Mr. Wayne?"

"Eight years. Why?"

That expression came back. It unsettled me a bit and I wanted to ask what was up. "Just curious," Blake said eventually. He took a step towards his cruiser. "It was nice to meet you Ms. Black. I assume I should get in touch with you if I want to speak to Mr. Wayne again?"

"That might be best."

I'd have to check with Bruce to see what he thought of the young cop, but if Bruce had agreed to see him, I had a feeling he wouldn't need to go through me. Better to be safe than sorry though, especially if Bruce was going to start venturing back into the cave. I handed Blake one of the cards I kept in my purse and gave him another smile before I headed inside. Bruce and Alfred were watching the car pull away from the landing above. I set my purse and the dress down on one of the tables before heading towards them.

"What was that all about?" I asked Bruce when I was within speaking distance.

"He knew who I was."

I opened my mouth to say everyone knew who he was, but the true meaning of Bruce's statement hit me before I opened my mouth. "What?" I asked, sounding a little breathless. "Is he going to tell anyone?"

"He claims to have figured it out some time ago, and I believe him. I don't think he'll tell anyone if he hasn't already."

I pressed my lips together as I tried to think of something to say to that—if Bruce believed Officer Blake wasn't a threat to the secret of Batman, than who was I to doubt him? Blake hadn't seemed like a malicious person, and perhaps his odd expression was him trying to deduce if I knew Bruce's secret as well. I ran a hand back through my hair and nodded.

"All right. I'll assume you plan to keep an eye on him regardless?"

Bruce nodded and started back down the stairs, Alfred and I following a step behind. "Alfred found connections between Bane and Daggett, something I understand you were already aware of, but it seems Daggett brought Bane and his men over here." Bruce turned to look at me. "Gordon chased a gunman into the sewers after securing the kidnapped Congressman, and when they recused him, he kept saying something about a masked man named Bane. That's what Blake came to tell me. No one except Blake believes Gordon."

"He came to tell you Gordon needs Batman." I crossed my arms under my chest and sighed. "What are you going to do?"

"I haven't decided yet. I need to talk to Mr. Fox about the funding for St. Swithin's."

"I will get Mr. Fox on the phone," Alfred said.

Bruce surprised us both by waving away the suggestion. "No. Do we still have any cars around here?"

Alfred and I shared a quick smile. "One or two, I believe. I shall pull one around for you."

As the butler vanished down the hall towards the garage, Bruce turned to me and stepped closer. "I also need an appointment at the hospital for my knee."

"Which hospital?" I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew the answer; there was a bigger smile tugging at my lips and a glint I hadn't seen in a long time lighting Bruce's eyes.

"Whichever one Gordon's in."

"I'll call it in. You'll be going to see Lucius first?" When Bruce nodded, I let the smile take over my face, a gesture Bruce returned, though with less wattage than I'd managed to muster. "Does this mean Gotham will get to see its favourite recluse out and about again?" I asked, keeping my tone on the cautious side. Bruce rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay." I held up my hands and stepped back. "I have to get something to eat before heading to the charity thing at the museum tonight. I'll see you later and you can tell me how Gordon's doing."

Bruce nodded. I pushed myself up on my toes and kissed him quickly on the lips before turning and heading back to the entrance hall where I'd left my things.

-

The museum hall where the party was being held was lavishly decorated and suffused in golden light. There were honest-to-God rose petals being showered about the dance floor by staff positioned on the balcony, dressed identically in white, black, and gold, and an incredible spread of food filled the tables around the room. The music and conversation mingled together to create a tolerable buzz of noise, punctuated here and there by laughter or the sound of the doors being opened to admit more guests.

I was currently standing on the balcony, looking down over the masked dancers and sipping the wine in my hand. I'd spoken to Ms. Tate, congratulating here on a beautiful gala, and she'd thanked me and my parents for the donation, and we'd parted ways. I saw her now on the other side of the balcony, mingling amongst those taking a break or catching a moment for conversation.

My attention was drawn to the main doors, along with everyone else, as a commotion rose from the gathered photographers and paparazzi. It would be some celebrity, come to spend the required time for a decent appearance, after some good publicity shots. Or something equally unimportant. I watched nonetheless, wondering which of the latest movie stars could warrant such a reaction. However, it wasn't a movie star or music star—it was Bruce, walking with his cane and exaggerating his limp a bit. He'd shaved and was wearing a suit, though the grey in his hair above his ears was visible and his face looked more lined than I remembered, but then, I hadn't seen him without the goatee in some time.

Feeling a little stunned, I watched him move across the floor towards the stairs leading up to the balcony, smiling and nodding at the curious and shocked elite of Gotham as he pushed his way through. I wasn't sure where he was headed—I didn't think he'd seen me—but he was cut off by Miranda Tate at the top of the stairs and they moved to one side to converse, the other side of the balcony. I started towards them, but Ms. Tate finished whatever she was saying before I arrived and her and Bruce parted ways, Bruce heading back down to the dance floor, his dark eyes intent.

I followed the line of his gaze as I walked and found him watching a beautiful brunette wearing a black mask and cat ears. There was something oddly familiar about her and something unsettling about the way she smiled at Bruce when she spotted him headed across the floor towards her. She looked like a cat when she smiled, smug and knowing. I spotted the pearls around her neck and wondered if this was Selina Kyle.

Curious as to what Bruce would do, I positioned myself near one of the tables and kept my gaze trained on Bruce and the woman, my arms crossed loosely, the wine glass still hanging from the fingers of one hand.

"You don't seem happy to see me," Bruce said as he cut between Selina and the man she was currently dancing with and took her in his arms. They moved towards the wall as they spun.

"You were supposed to be a recluse." She was almost sneering.

"I needed some fresh air and I was invited."

"Why don't you call the police?" she asked after a beat.

They moved away with the flow of the crowd and I could no longer hear what they were saying. I shifted so I could watch their faces. I watched surprise and anger and tension cross their faces. I watched Selina bare her teeth and snap at Bruce, watched him hold her back. She leaned closer to him as they came near again, her mouth near his ear and a dangerous look on her face. She had finished speaking by the time I could hear them again and Bruce's face told me nothing.

"You sound like you're looking forward to it," Bruce was saying.

"I'm adaptable."

They stopped moving, arms falling away from each other. "The pearls do look better on your than they did in the safe but," he reached up and unclasped the necklace with one hand, "I can't let you keep them."

I waited for her to walk away as the pearls fell into Bruce's hand and he slipped them in his pocket. But she didn't. The burglar glared at Bruce for a few seconds before she grabbed the front of his suit jacket and kissed him hard on the mouth.

A shock went through me—anger and surprise and I'd taken three steps towards them before I realized what I was doing. I stopped myself, told myself it was just a kiss. The thief ended the kiss and took off through the crowd, Bruce's eyes widening slightly in her wake. The man Selina had been dancing with before approached Bruce, handed him his cane, and told him off for "scaring" Selina away, and then Bruce turned and found me. Neither of us said anything. Bruce gave a bare nod towards the stairs and we once again found ourselves on the balcony, away from the din and more capable of a private conversation, though there was no need for him to explain. It was just a kiss.

"How did it go with Lucius?"

Bruce sighed and leaned little heavier on his cane. "The company is in worse shape than I thought."

"Maybe if you'd been paying more attention…"

"Ellie—"

I waved away whatever he was going to say. "Never mind—sorry. I'm going to head back to the manor and see what else Alfred managed to find out about Bane. If he's in Gotham, we need to be prepared," I added in a whisper.

Bruce nodded, his hand moving to my upper arm, fingers firm as he squeezed. Discreetly, he slid his hand down to mine, thumb tracing over the lines of my palm. I closed my eyes and moved closer to him. He leaned down and kissed my cheek, squeezing my hand again. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and kiss him, but instead I turned and left the museum.


	37. The Call

"She stole your car?"

_"Yes."_

I tried not to laugh, I really did, but the attempted suppression resulted in a loud snort, which just made me laugh harder. I could hear Bruce rolling his eyes on the other end of the line though, so I stifled the laughter again; I might have heard a small chuckle, but I might have imagined it. "I'll get a location on it for you," I said, tucking the phone between my shoulder and ear as I reached for the keyboard in the centre of the bank of computers. Bruce may have changed the set-up of the cave when the manor had been rebuilt, but the computer systems were familiar enough and I was able to bring up the GPS locater without issue. "Okay, it's searching. Are you and Alfred going to head out to get the car?"

_"Assuming it's still in once piece."_

"Do you really think it's not? She doesn't seem like the type to leave it somewhere it'll get stripped for parts or anything like that. She kept the pearls and she could have made a small fortune off that necklace."

_"She likes the pearls."_

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "She could still sell the car for parts or something I guess. For all the time I've spent helping you track down bad guys, I know surprisingly little about how crime is actually perpetrated."

_"That's not a bad thing."_

I snorted again—I hadn't even had that much wine and normally I only laughed in that undignified manner after drinking. "I know that, but sometimes I feel like I'm too in the dark about these things."

Bruce didn't say anything, not that I'd expected him to. I leaned back in the chair and watched the information pass over the screen for a few seconds, listening to the silence on the other end of the line. I'd half-expected Bruce to hang up and have me call him back when I had a location, but apparently he was going to wait. I wished I'd connected the headset to the new bank of computers—my neck was starting to hurt—but I hadn't expected to get a call while I was down in the cave; I hadn't expected to be down there long enough to get a phone call, but I'd got caught up in reading about Bane, sifting through the copious information Alfred had collected on the masked mercenary.

The computer beeped, drawing my attention back to the screen. "Okay, I got it. The Lamborghini is in a lot in Old Town—I'm transferring the location to your phone. Since the GPS is still intact, I'm going to assume it's in one piece. Or mostly one piece."

_"Got it."_ Bruce hesitated a moment before saying, _"Can you pick something up from Lucius for me tomorrow morning? He's going to leave it downstairs."_

A small smile tugged at one corner of my mouth. Downstairs was Applied Sciences and that could only mean one thing. He had something in mind. Something involving the cape and the cowl. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll get that after I pick up your dry cleaning," I said, making sure the smile was evident in my voice.

That time, there was a small laugh. Just a breath of laughter before he hung up the phone.

-

I spent most of the next day running the errands an assistant is usually thought of doing—including picking up the dry cleaning—and fielding calls as per usual, although now the calls were about Bruce's sudden appearance at Miranda Tate's charity gala. What had brought his self-induced exile to an end? Was he finally ready to explain why he'd gone into exile in the first place? Why couldn't they talk to Bruce? Why did they have to talk to me, his lowly assistant? I told the reporters and journalists to shove their annoying curiosity up their asses as politely as I could every time one of them called, but damn, did I wish I could turn off my phone.

I made it to Wayne Enterprises about four in the afternoon, following the familiar path through the lobby, to the elevator, and through the halls to Lucius's office. He wasn't there, and his new assistant informed me he was in a meeting, though he should be done soon. She permitted me to pass by her desk and wait in Lucius's office; of all the assistants/receptionists he had since I'd left, this one was the tightest about the rules. I'd tried to walk past her once and she'd nearly called security on me.

Lucius entered his office a few minutes after I'd settled in the chair in front of his desk. "I wondered if I would be seeing Mr. Wayne or yourself this afternoon."

I shrugged with one shoulder as I got to my feet. "He asked me to pick up whatever it is—I'm not entirely sure what Bruce is up to. He seems to have slipped back into his old enigmatic ways a little bit."

Lucius raised an eyebrow as he led the way to the elevator hidden behind a section of the bookshelves. "If you don't mind me saying, I would have thought you would be more excited about this Eleanor. You know as well as I do what it means that Bruce is making strange requests again."

I huffed before I could stop myself and wondered how Lucius was so perceptive. I ran the fingers of one hand back through my hair, red-brown strands dragging across my view. "So did I." I stepped into the elevator and the doors closed, the car starting its descent after a short second. I leaned back against the wall, hands braced on the rail running around the inside of the car. "He was so adamant about being retired… I did my best to accept it and move on. I didn't do so well. And now that he's turning back to all he was before, I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do." I also still didn't know what to think about the conversation between Bruce and Alfred I'd overheard, but I wasn't going to bring it up to Lucius. Whatever Bruce felt for me and whatever he still felt for Rachel… that belonged between Bruce and me. "I'm scared Bruce hasn't thought this through and something's going to happen to him."

"Does that sound like something Bruce would do?"

I followed Lucius out of the elevator and into Applied Sciences, chewing on my bottom lip. "Maybe not eight years ago, but now… He's not that man anymore Lucius."

He reached out and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "I'll do whatever I can to keep him safe, Eleanor."

I nodded. "I know." I gave my head a little shake. "So," I said, moving past the moment. "Where's whatever it is that I'm picking up for Bruce?"

Lucius walked over to a nearby table to retrieve the item. He handed me what looked like a knee brace with metallic discs at the points where the fabric stripes intersected. I ran my fingers over the fabric—it felt like similar material Bruce's utility belt was made out of—and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"To help with his bad knee?" I asked.

He nodded. "The smaller of the toys Bruce asked for."

The confusion which had dominated my face for the majority of my visit to Wayne Enterprises was replaced by a small and knowing grin; sometimes I could be perceptive too. Sometimes. "You showed him the Bat," I said, picturing the strange, angular aircraft. I'd been here when it'd arrived and wondered how long it would take for Lucius to find a way to show it to Bruce. He'd always said he was just waiting for the right moment and apparently, it had arrived. "I assume he wanted it in black?"

"Of course."

-

I watched the brace tighten, the metallic discs spinning to some unseen pattern. Bruce groaned again, his teeth clenched against whatever pain the thing was causing him. It wasn't even on the damaged leg yet—as Bruce had explained, it first had to learn the optimal movement patterns from his good leg so it could then help his other leg function properly. He'd said it was likely to hurt, but seeing him in pain had never been easy for me, and after all his time away from the more dangerous side of his life, it was harder to take now. I watched as Bruce moved the brace to his bad leg. I wrapped one arm around myself and put the nail of my thumb between my teeth—something to do instead of shudder with the imaginary shared discomfort.

"Are you sure it's supposed to hurt this much?" I asked when he gasped with the initial tightening of the brace. Bruce rarely vocalized pain.

Sweat had broken out on his brow and his breath was a little laboured, but he still managed to give me an indignant look. I shrugged in response, but said nothing else. Bruce got to his feet after another moment of adjustment.

"How does it feel?" Alfred asked.

"Not bad." I saw Bruce inhale and guessed what he was going to do a fraction of a second before he turned and kicked the brick of the archway, red crumbs and dust filling the air and falling to the ground. I saw it coming, but I still jumped. "Not bad at all."

He gave himself a shake and started walking towards the cube in the centre of the water, the chamber holding the suit rising to meet him and Alfred and I following close behind. It was weird seeing Bruce in the shorts and t-shirt that went beneath the Batsuit again and it was weird seeing the suit in the dim light of the cave. Despite my resistance to the idea, I had actually begun to believe I would never be down here again in this capacity.

"Master Wayne, if you are considering going out there again, you should hear the rumours about Bane," Alfred said, drawing the focus back to the matter at hand.

Bruce stepped onto the cube and turned to face us. "I'm all ears."

"In a more ancient part of the world, there is a prison, a pit where men are thrown to suffer and die." The butler gave a small sigh, his hands clasped behind his back and unease clear on his face. As I passed him, I gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Sometimes, a man rises from the darkness… sometimes, the pit throws something back."

"Bane," Bruce breathed, his attention on the cowl; even when it was empty, it seemed somehow alive. It always had.

"Born and raised in hell on Earth," I muttered. "Though no one knows how he survived or how he escaped."

"But they do know who trained him once he found his way out—Ra's al Ghul, your mentor." Alfred gave me a brief look and I nodded, telling him I'd keep my mouth shut. Alfred wanted to tell Bruce this, to enhance the importance of what he'd discovered while doing researching the masked mercenary. If it came from Alfred, Bruce would be more likely to take it seriously. "Ra's picked him out of despair and trained him in the arts of combat and deception, just like you. Until he was excommunicated, and any man who was too extreme for Ra's al Ghul is not someone to be trifled with."

"I didn't realize I was known for trifling with criminals."

And then Alfred plucked the words straight from my brain, straight from the worry I'd confided in Lucius earlier.

"That was then, Master Wayne, not now. You can strap up your leg, ignore your injuries, put the cowl back on, but none of those things will make you what you were."

"Alfred—"

He cut me off with a sharp wave of his hand, preventing me from coming to Bruce's defense. I realized, by the set of his shoulders and jaw, that Alfred had been worried about tonight too and I had been stupid not to realize it.

"You were someone whose anger at death made him value all life, even his own. You were someone who wanted to protect and preserve life and peace and justice."

Bruce's own jaw was clenched and he was on the verge of yelling. "If he is all you say he is, then Gotham needs me."

"Yes, it needs you. Bruce Wayne—you're resources and knowledge, just as Ms. Black tried to tell you for years. Gotham doesn't need your body or your life."

Bruce looked at me, face unreadable, and then back to Alfred. "I did try to help as Bruce Wayne and I failed. This is all I have left."

"You can fail as Bruce Wayne, as Batman you can't afford to."

"That's what you're afraid of," Bruce said with realization and a dangerous fire bringing light to his face. "You're afraid that if I go back out there, I'll fail."

"No. I'm afraid you want to fail."

And then Alfred turned and headed for the elevator. I'd never seen him leave like that, and judging by the look on Bruce's face, neither had he. I moved to stand beside him, my movement drawing Bruce's attention to me. I put my hands on his forearms and he released the fists he'd balled his hands into, tension leaving his body as he exhaled. We remained in silence for a few seconds, listening to the sound of the elevator rising, and holding each other's gaze. I got the sense Bruce wanted to say something, maybe about what Alfred had said, maybe about him saying Batman was all he had left, but he remained quiet as he turned to the Batsuit, and in a moment of wisdom, I didn't push.

Without a word, he started pulling it on, piece by piece, allowing me to help him fasten it in place. He didn't really need my help—he and Lucius had designed the suit so he could put it on by himself—so it meant something for him to let me assist. Like so many things right then, I wasn't sure what to make of the gesture. When he was fully dressed and armed, he wrapped his gauntleted fists around my arms, just above my elbows and pulled me to him in a kiss. It felt desperate and almost like a goodbye, but I couldn't pinpoint what exactly made me think so and it certainly didn't stop me from putting everything I had into the kiss. It had been a long time since we'd kissed like that.

"I know you don't want to hear it," I breathed when we parted, "but be careful. It has been eight years."

He kissed me again, quicker, warmer. "I will," he said, the first edge of Batman's growl working its way into his voice.

"Good." I took a step back, Bruce dropping his hands. "I'll be plugged in and listening. Hopefully this is just like riding a bike. For both of us."

I held Bruce's gaze a moment longer before I turned and walked back to solid ground, to the larger bank of computers where Bruce had been sitting when he'd attached the brace; the computers hidden in the cube were more of a back-up and besides, he was going to need the space as a landing pad when he returned. I didn't add the "if he returned," not even in my thoughts, because though this felt a little like a goodbye, I refused to let my thoughts run in that direction.

-

"The police are not happy to see you."

_"I didn't expect they would be."_

The roar of the Batpod was filling the headset and doing a good job of drowning out the chatter from the police radio, but I could make most of it out anyway, just like I'd always been able to. Manning the bank of computers was like riding a bike—it had only taken me a few minutes to get back in the swing of things as Batman headed towards the Gotham stock exchange. The police had received a call from a panicked and half-conscious security guard about a masked man breaking in and holding up the trading floor, one Batman and I had picked up immediately. The police had set up a perimeter outside the building, but Bane and the men he'd brought with them had escaped via motor bike and were headed towards the south end of the city, hostages in tow.

"Be prepared to meet police blockades—Foley had the dispatcher call everyone in to catch you. There's," I paused to look at the screen displaying a map of the area around Batman's location, "at least twenty more cruisers headed for you and several more setting up a barricade behind you."

_"Got it."_

I reached over to the television screen embedded in the upper middle of the array of computers and switched it to Gotham Cable News to watch the chase. Batman was hot the heels of Bane's men, though there was one less than there had been at the start. At the outer range of the helicopter's cameras, two of the bikes drew close together and then one pulled off, exiting the range of both the camera and the map to my left, displaying multiple GPS locator points.

"One of the bikes has pulled off. It looks like he's going to double back."

_"Keep an eye on him as long as you can."_

There was a focus in Batman's voice telling me he was about to execute whatever move he'd been planning. I made a noise of affirmation and widened the spread on my GPS map and locked on to the wayward bike with a few quick keystrokes, telling the computer to record his movements as well for later viewing. On the news feed, I saw Batman rescue one of the hostages, the sudden movement and change of weight sending the mercenary and vehicle toppling to the ground. Hostage safe and running to the police, Batman turned the Batpod around and parked a few paces away from the dazed man. When the man was unconscious and ready to be arrested, Batman grabbed the computer from the man's bag.

_"They were running some sort of program. It's finished. I'm bringing the USB back for analyzing."_

"All right. You might want to hurry. We've got police choppers moving in, as well as more media choppers. SWAT is headed for the scene as well, and GCPD's got another road block being set up ahead of your position. This Foley guy is really set on bringing you down."

I didn't get a response, just a fresh wave of noise as Batman gunned the engine on the Batpod and took off back the way he'd come, launching himself up a trunk and onto an overpass to bypass the police presence. On the TV, the Batpod was illuminated with three spotlights from various helicopters as it sped down a deserted street into the skyscrapers of downtown Gotham.

Tension rose through my back, knotting between my shoulder blades as I watched and wondered how he was going to get out of this one. He must have taken into consideration the police response to his appearance, must have known they would try their best to catch him. Perhaps he hadn't anticipated the magnitude of it thought—could it have been possible to guess how intent Foley would be? And where was the Bat? Lucius said Bruce had asked for the specialized aircraft for tonight.

My worry abated slightly as the Batpod vanished into an alley, swallowed by the shadows—he had an escape plan and I should never have considered otherwise. The police who had been chasing him pulled up around the mouth of the alley, blocking what they perceived as the only exit, just as a deep, thrumming roar filled the air, drowning out all other noise. It was loud enough to make me remove the headset. The police watched, stunned, as Batman flew over their heads and, despite the force of cops on the streets, escaped.

"I don't think they'll forget that anytime soon," I said as I pulled the headset back on; the noise had dulled as the Bat moved out of the press of the buildings.

_"Pull up what you can on Foley. And Blake while you're at it."_

"Okay. Are you heading back?"

_"Not yet. There's something going on near my present location."_

"I'm going to put the headset on speaker while I look for the information."

Again, no response. Just the sound of the Bat's engines powering down as Batman landed.

-

I awoke to the sound of raised voices—apparently I needed to adjust my sleeping schedule if Batman was going to be prowling the streets again. I may have not slept through the night in eight years, but my endurance seemed to be sorely lacking. I pushed myself out of the chair, my back protesting the movement after being in the same position for however long, and turned towards the voices to find Alfred and Bruce in a stand-off, the butler's face almost desperate and Bruce's determined. He'd changed out of the Batsuit and was dressed in black t-shirt and lounge pants with a towel flung over one shoulder.

Bruce stared hard at the butler for a moment more before he crossed over to the bank of computers. I stared at him for a few seconds, trying to read something about what was going on. He narrowed his eyes slightly and I shoved the folders containing all I'd found out about the two cops into his hands. Having got what he wanted, he started towards the elevator, Alfred and I falling in behind him, more out of habit than anything.

"I will get this to Fox," Alfred said once we had reached the manor proper. His words had the feeling of picking up a conversation they'd left in the cave. "But no more." Bruce and I both turned to face Alfred. The look I'd seen before Bruce had ventured out into Gotham was back, accompanied by the conviction of someone who'd made up their mind about a difficult thing. "I've sewn you up and set your bones, but I will not bury you. I can't. I have buried too many members of the Wayne family."

"You'd abandon me?"

"You only see one end to this and leaving is all I have left to make you understand. You aren't Batman anymore—you have to find another way." Alfred's eyes dropped, his hand wrapped tightly around what looked like a USB drive. "You used to talk about finishing, about finding a life beyond that awful cave—"

"Rachel died knowing we'd decided to be together. That was my life beyond Batman and I can't just move on. She didn't. She couldn't."

I could see Alfred's lips moving in response, but I couldn't hear anything beyond the ringing in my ears. My breath was coming in short pants and I was angry—seeing red, steam coming out my ears angry. But Alfred had to say his piece, get whatever was weighing on his mind and heart off it, so I pressed my lips into a thin line and waited, staring hard at the wall behind Alfred's head so I didn't have to look at Bruce and clenching my fists tight enough to leave nail marks on my palms, if not blood.

I tuned back in long enough to hear something about a letter, something about Rachel deciding to be with Harvey; to watch Alfred's eyes fill with tears as he turned and walked down the stairs.

Then Bruce was looking at me and the rage flared hot.

Eight years. Eight years I'd been by his side, I thought we'd been in love. Eight years I'd tried to help him move on, help him find his way, and he was still thinking about her? Still pining over her death? I'd never once considered that he'd forget about her, and I'd known some part of him would always love Rachel, but…

"You can't move on?" I said, words coming out more as a gasp than anything else.

"Ellie—"

He took a step towards me and I took one back, putting a hand out to keep him at bay. His chest hit my fingers and my hand flattened, fingers splayed. I could see the tears in his eyes and I knew this might have been petty and selfish and the completely wrong time to focus on it, but God damn it, it hurt. "It's been eight years since she died, Bruce. Eight years, and I've been here the whole time trying to be what you needed, and you couldn't find the time to tell me it was all for nothing because I couldn't be her?"

Bruce looked at me and he looked broken. I wanted to hug him, to tell him it was okay, but it wasn't okay and I forced myself to remain where I was, though my fingers did flex against his chest, betraying the thoughts I was fighting.

"I tried Ellie," he said, voice heavy with the emotions he was fighting to hold back.

"You didn't try hard enough. Not with me, not with helping the city as Bruce Wayne and you know it." I took a deep breath and met his gaze, refused to let the tears pooling in my eyes spill over. "Alfred was right to be afraid you wanted to fail tonight, to worry you were looking for a way out."

"I wouldn't."

"We can't know that Bruce, not anymore. You're not the same man you were back then, not even close. You don't have the same drive and you don't have Rachel. You spent eight years moping around this manor and maybe we should have tried harder to help you, maybe we should have found a way to force you to get help, but we were trying to do what you would want us to. We didn't want to force anything on you, we wanted to let you grieve in your own time—that's why Alfred burned the stupid letter—but you're damaged. You've fallen and you still won't let anyone help you up. Maybe you want to stay at the bottom. Maybe you want it to be over—"

Bruce pushed beyond the flimsy defense of my extended arm, forcing me to retreat until my back was against the wall, pressed between the windows on the landing, the silver-white light of dawn casting dramatic shadows on his face. His hands were around my upper arms, face close to mine. The tears had actually begun to fall and since he was already so close, I raised my hands and brushed the tears away with my thumbs.

"I don't want it to be over," he whispered, voice so quiet it took me a minute to understand what he'd said, and even then I wasn't exactly sure he was referring to. His life, Batman, what he'd had with Rachel, our relationship, everything…

I stayed there a moment, in his arms, and wanted so bad to stay there forever. I sniffed back a sudden influx of tears and kissed Bruce once, softly on the lips before pushing him back and disengaging from his arms, though he caught hold of one of my hands. "If that's true, you know I'll be here to help you, but tonight…" I took another deep breath, steeled myself. What was I about to say would hurt Bruce and I didn't want to hurt him anymore, despite how much he'd hurt me with three simple words, just moments before. "Tonight I'm going to stay at my apartment, because you need to be sure you want to come back to the world and I need to be mad at you and neither of us will be able to do so with the other one around."

Bruce nodded, though I could still see the pain in his eyes. "I—"

"Don't apologize—don't say anything unless you mean it."

He nodded again and squeezed the hand he was holding, using the pressure to draw me to him. He wrapped his arms around me and I pressed my face into his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his middle to return the hug.

"See you tomorrow," I said when we finally parted.

I hadn't wanted to say it—that was too hopeful a note to leave things on when I was mad—but I couldn't leave without making it clear I wasn't leaving for good.


	38. Billionaire No More

I only managed about two hours of sleep after leaving, waking at six and wondering where the hell I was. I sat in bed for a while, cross-legged and bleary-eyed, reminding myself I was in my room at my loft. The light was different in the city, and it used to be comforting, but it had been so long since I'd slept there and since I'd slept alone that the situation felt incredibly alien. As the fog cleared, I found myself staring at the empty space beside me, missing the weight and warmth of having someone beside me. I sighed and climbed out of bed, padding across the floor to the bathroom, the wood cold on my bare feet.

After changing into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, I made myself breakfast and settled on my couch to read the files about Bane and his mercenaries while I ate. I hadn't had a chance to finish learning about Gotham's newest threat and wanted to be prepared when he made whatever move he was planning on making. The attack on the stock exchange smacked of a stepping stone to bigger things and I was afraid of what those bigger things would be.

The last time Gotham had suffered a city wide attack had been at the Joker's chaotic hands, and I still had nightmares about his laughter, his voice, his face. Being as terrified as I had been then was nothing something I was looking forward to, but something I was sure would happen if Bane wasn't stopped.

I finished reading the file, my thoughts wandering through horrific possibilities of what Bane's plans were the entire time. Since Bane was connected, however loosely, to the League of Shadows, and they'd been out to destroy Gotham, I was leaning towards a similar plan for the masked mercenary, not that that attack was something I wanted to revisit either. I gave my head a shake as I cleaned up from breakfast. Thinking about what could happen was just going to make me scared. It wasn't going to help.

It was seven am by then. Still too early to really get anything done outside the loft. I decided to run through my katas from my martial arts class for something to do, something to get my mind off of Bane, the what ifs, and the residual anger I felt whenever I thought of Bruce.

It was eight am when my cell phone rang, startling me in the silence of my apartment.

I picked up the phone, using my other hand to wipe a few drops of sweat off my face. It was Lucius. He wasn't usually on the list of people who would call me this early in the morning—he usually waited until he was in the office to call me—so something bad must be up. "Hello?"

_"Good morning Eleanor. I'm sorry to call this early, but have you seen the paper?"_

"No. I'm at my loft. It doesn't get delivered here anymore. Why? What's up?"

_"That attack on the stock exchange yesterday was aimed at Bruce."_

I rubbed at my face, trying to force myself to focus. "What?"

_"The transfer codes on the USB drive Mr. Pennyworth dropped off were all verified by Bruce's thumbprint and moved the vast majority of his money into options which expired at midnight."_

"Fuck. Can he claim fraud?"

_"Maybe in the long term, but right now he's about to lose the company to John Daggett, who has called an emergency meeting of the board this morning. I've got Applied Sciences closed off, so everything down there is safe, but as for the company itself, I'm taking Bruce to meet with Miranda Tate at nine."_

"Do you think she'll help?"

_"She has the money and an interest in seeing the company do well since the energy project was shut down."_

I briefly thought about the conversations I'd had with Miranda Tate, few as they were. Then I thought about the research I'd done on her way back at the beginning of the energy project, when Bruce had been trying to find funding for the project. No red flags had gone up while researching and she seemed like a nice enough woman, determined and smart and capable. "Good. Get the board behind her and at least Bruce won't lose the company to that asshat Daggett. I'll head to Wayne Enterprises and meet you and Bruce there." I sighed, thinking of the situation waiting outside Wayne Enterprises, of the reporters and the shareholders and the curious and the angry. "I'll try and head off as much of the media storm as I can."

_"That is not a bad idea Eleanor, but if I may ask, why are you not with Bruce now?"_

I sighed again, louder. Loud enough for Lucius to hear. But I didn't give him a chance to ask any more questions about it. "A disagreement of sorts would be the easiest way of putting it. I'll meet you at Wayne Enterprises." I hung up then, my heart pounding a little harder in my chest, because of the reminder of the fight between Bruce and I or the shitty situation I'd woken to or both. "Fuck," I said again, with emphasis.

-

I pulled into the parking lot at Wayne Enterprises at nine-thirty, shutting off the ignition and falling heavily back into the driver's seat. I wasn't really looking forward to seeing Bruce again, not yet. Well, that was a lie. I didn't like being away from him, but I was still mad, the anger burning away in the back of my mind, the bottom of my stomach. But I pushed it away for now. It was of more import right then to make sure Wayne Enterprises was secured and kept out of Daggett's hands.

Setting my jaw, I climbed out of my car and headed for the main entrance. I'd already spent some time on the phone with reporters looking for information and answers on how Bruce had lost his money, why he had taken such risks, and what he'd planned to do now. I hadn't answered any questions, just given the standard "no comment" line, and asked the press to accept Mr. Wayne's no comment until he was ready to issue a statement. Many had agreed. As expected though, there was still a flock of people outside the door, eyes peeled for any sign of Gotham's favoured son, for any breath of an answer, of information.

"Ms. Black! Ms. Black!"

I ignored the call. I ignored all the shouts and questions, but I didn't ignore it when someone wrapped their fingers around my arm to try and get my attention. I would never have done what I did next if I hadn't already been angry.

I reached up with my other hand and grabbed the offending appendage, spinning around and twisting their arm as I moved, executing the maneuver from my martial arts class near perfectly. "Do not touch me," I said, narrowing my eyes at the small, blond man. "And back the fuck off or I will call the cops and have all of you hauled away."

"We deserve answers!" someone yelled.

"Well you will just have to wait for the press release like everyone else."

I put a little pressure on the man's hand before letting him go and heading for the lobby once more. I heard some less-than-savoury things yelled at me, but I'd just toed the line and as much as I wanted to go back and punch one of them in the face, I reigned myself in. The relative silence of the lobby was a breath of fresh air, one I used to calm myself. By the time I reached the top floor and took up a position on the bench by the window to wait, I was feeling more centred, though I was dreading heading back into the mess outside the door.

"Ellie?"

I snapped to attention and found Bruce standing in front of me. I'd expected his face to be unreadable, and it almost was, but there was something in his eyes betraying the thoughts in his head. "Hey," I said. "How did it go?"

"Daggett kicked me out for not being a board member," he answered, one corner of his mouth turning up a bit. "But Miranda will win them over."

"Good."

I started for the elevator and Bruce fell in beside me. "You ready for the shitstorm outside?" I asked once we were safe inside the elevator.

Bruce nodded, though he did take a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the action, relieving some of the tension. I reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze, followed by a small smile when he turned to look at me. His thumb moved over the back of my hand in response.

"I hope you weren't sticking around for my money," Bruce said, his tone forcibly light and jovial, displaying the stress he was keeping so well hidden.

I huffed a laugh that may or may not have been a little forced itself. "We can always live off my money."

Bruce quirked a small grin down at me, more genuine than before and I returned it. Rock in the storm, that was me. Maybe slate, chipping and flaking away with the weather. Yeah, that sounded better. Chipping and flaking away, but still there.

There was indeed a shitstorm outside, including all the expected reporters, an anxious valet, and someone towing Bruce's Lamborghini. We stepped onto the sidewalk and the noise level instantly reached unbearable. It was impossible to hear the individual questions as the reporters screamed over one another and, even in the daylight, the flashes of the cameras were obnoxious. The valet stepped through it all and got right up close so he could be heard as he apologized for letting the people tow the car, followed closely by someone I hadn't seen until then: Officer Blake.

"Need a ride?" he asked Bruce.

Bruce nodded and we got in the car, Bruce because he didn't know I'd driven and me because I got the sense there was something Blake wanted to talk about and I didn't want to miss it. Also because I didn't really have a chance to say "Oh wait, I drove here." Blake drove through the streets with the ease of someone who spent a great deal of time in the car and who knew the city well, but even so the three of us remained silent for some time as the buildings went by. I was sitting behind Bruce, who was in the passenger seat, my hand on the seat, fingers on his shoulder.

When we were out of the downtown area and the traffic had thinned somewhat, Blake cleared his throat. "So, when you started… why the mask? Why not let people know who you were?"

Bruce inhaled and I wondered if he was going to answer Blake's question. He was the first stranger to find out about Bruce's secret identity that we were aware of and Bruce wouldn't be appreciative of the breach. Hell, he hadn't been happy when I'd crossed that line and we'd known each other since we were little. But, after exhaling a measured breath, Bruce answered.

"To protect the people closest to me, to keep them as separate as I could from that part of my life. I angered a lot of people doing what I did, people who wouldn't have any qualms about going through others to get to me. No one else deserved to suffer for my actions."

"You're a loner with no family," Blake blurted. He realized himself a second later. "Sorry."

"There are always people you care about," I said so Bruce wouldn't have to open up old and new wounds more than he already was, if the darkness in his eyes, the set of his jaw was any indication. "Sometimes you just don't realize how much until they're gone."

Bruce turned to look at me, but I looked away, pulling my hand from the back of the chair and putting it in my lap. He turned back to Blake, who was trying to keep the confused look off his face and picked up the conversation, directing it back to the original point, his posture and voice changing—finding comfort in a topic he knew.

"The mask removed identity from the equation—the idea was to be a symbol. Batman could be anyone—that was the point, from the beginning. I never meant to do this forever. I never meant to do this again."

Blake and I sighed at nearly the same time. He said, "It was damn good to see him back." I remained quiet.

Bruce changed the subject. "Have you got anything on Bane's whereabouts?"

"Yeah, I've got five hundred pages of tunnel records and maps, a flashlight, and no real idea what I'm doing. I could use some help, actually."

"I'll help you," I blurted. "I'm good with research, at finding things. Maybe I can help find Bane. That is, if you don't need to do anything."

Bruce shook his head. He didn't look at me. "Drop me in Old Town," he said to Blake. "I'll see if Selina knows where Bane and his men operate from. She's after the Clean Slate and she'll do whatever she can to get it. That's why she stole my prints for Daggett. He was supposed to give her the program as payment."

"Good thing you bought Rykin Data out from under him then." Was my voice a little bitter? Maybe.

The drive finished in silence and then we were sitting in the cruiser outside a series of storefronts and the walk-ups above them. Bruce climbed out of the car and, after a second's hesitation, I followed. For almost thirty full seconds, we stood there in silence, looking at one another, about a foot of space between us. It felt bigger. Much bigger.

"I'll give Blake whatever help I can, but I'll try and be in the cave later. You may need someone plugged in and I'm assuming Alfred isn't there to do it anymore."

"Ellie—"

"Bruce, we can fight more later, okay? Finding Bane and stopping him trumps whatever our issues are. I know that, and I'm sorry I'm all over the place today, but there's a lot going on again and it all happened really suddenly." I met his gaze, a bitter smile on my lips. "I was supposed to be excited to have Batman back and instead I'm freaking out, and I can't even imagine what you're feeling, but—" I forced myself to take a deep breath. "I can still do what you need me to and I'm not going anywhere."

He nodded once, firmly.

"Be careful. You can't trust her. You know that, but still. Be careful with her and going up against Bane."

His hand came to rest on my cheek and I leaned into it reflexively. "I'll call you after I speak to Selina." Bruce stepped into me and pressed his lips softly to mine, catching me by surprise. His hand moved down my arm to squeeze my hand. "It's important to keep Blake in the loop and to help him however you can, but I would like you plugged in."

I wanted to kiss him again, wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him I loved him, but I didn't. I told him I would be there and leaned into him, my forehead on his shoulder. Just before he crossed the street to what I assumed was Selina's apartment, I gave him my cars keys and money to get a cab to Wayne Enterprises. He kissed my forehead and then he was gone, moving across the street. I let myself marvel for a second at the complete absence of his limp—that brace did good work.

"So, what exactly is the deal with you two?" Blake asked as I slid into Bruce's vacated seat.

"Not really any of your damn business." I propped my elbow up on the door as the young cop started driving once more, leaned into it, twining the fingers of my hand into my hair. "But it's far more complicated than it needs to be but neither of us are good at letting things go."

"You've been working for him for longer than eight years, haven't you?"

I looked sideways at Blake, a small smile working its way onto my face. "Ten years. I've been working for him almost since he became Batman, but I've known him my whole life."

"Your dedication is impressive. Most people gave up on Batman after a year."

"You didn't."

"I knew he'd be back when we needed him most."

I sighed and scratched at my head. "I wish I could say my conviction was unwavering as yours over the past eight years, but it wasn't."

"Then why'd you stay with him?" A beat passed and Blake seemed to realize he'd asked a question that was incredibly personal for me. "If you don't want to answer that, that's fine. Like you said, it's not really any of my damn business."

"To tell you the truth, having someone who is not Alfred that I can talk to about it would be refreshing. No one outside our tiny circle knows about Bruce and I, to preserve images and whatever other shit labels you want to stick on it." I leveled my gaze on Officer Blake; God, he looked young, younger than Bruce when he'd become Batman, younger than me when I'd started helping. "I loved and him and believed in him, in what he was trying to do as Batman and then as Bruce Wayne. I still do. My patience with him may yet be my downfall," I added, bitterness taking over my voice, despite my efforts to keep it at bay.

Blake displayed unexpected perception and changed the subject. "So, you have any insight on finding Bane?"

I sunk deeper into my seat and set my brain to working, trying to forget about Bruce for the moment. "Have you been through all the city's maps of the sewers?"

"Yes."

"Have you checked them with older maps to see if there are any walled-off or abandoned areas? There's been a lot of construction and rebuilding going on down there in the last couple of years."

"No, but the Commissioner came out of one of the outflows after escaping from Bane, so it's safe to think Bane and his men are holed up in a working area of the sewer."

"Probably, but we might want to check anyways. Just to be safe. Other than that, I'd say we just work backwards from the outflows and see if there are any areas large enough to house an entire operation."

We drove in silence for a while again, Blake switching directions and heading for the city records department to add the stack of paper sitting in the backseat of his cruiser. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence. When we were safe in the small records room, large books of maps and diagrams of Gotham City's sewers spread out on the table in front of us, we finally broke the silence beyond the inane chatter about our current task.

"So, in all that time, you ever think about putting on a mask?"

I raised an eyebrow at the young cop, but I couldn't help but smile. "I'd be lying if I said no," I answered. "But I've never actually done it and, to be honest, I kind of hope I never to."

"Could you do it?"

"If I had to, yes."

Blake nodded as if that affirmed something about me in his mind and we turned back to our maps.

However, we didn't get to stay long. A call acme through on Blake's radio reporting a body had been found, a body belonging to one John Daggett.


	39. Cold Fear

"Who is she? You can't just bring anyone in here!"

I narrowed my eyes at Foley as he spoke, but wisely kept my mouth shut. We weren't here to cause trouble, just deliver news. I remained behind Blake as we walked farther into the room, moving to stand in front of the windows, putting as much space between me and Foley as I could. I crossed my arms and leaned against the panes of glass. Maybe if I didn't inject myself into the conversation, he'd forget I was there.

"She's been helping me with the tunnel records," Blake said, in an almost off-handed way before turning his attention to Commissioner Gordon where he lay in the hospital bed, the older man's eyes eager for whatever information Officer Blake had to give him. "John Daggett's body was found in a dumpster about an hour ago. I thought you might like to know."

"Why?" Gordon asked.

"His name was all over permits we came across while trying to find where Bane could be hiding: subway maintenance, sewer construction… everything. He's had guys down there for a long time."

I watched Foley's brow crease, muscles in his cheeks bunching.

Gordon turned his eyes to the blond cop and asked, "Where did you get with the tunnel searches? Do you have anything that might help find Bane?"

Foley glared at Blake, muttered something I couldn't quite hear, something that made Blake's eyes narrow, but the younger police officer said nothing. We were all just being smart today, apparently, although for all I knew, Blake usually knew when to keep his mouth shut. I would have loved to have heard what happened next, but I felt my phone buzz in my bag and excused myself to the hallway to answer it. Bruce's picture greeted me when I pulled the phone out and swiped my thumb across the screen.

"What did you find out?" I asked, bypassing the pleasantries.

_"Selina knows where Bane and his men are. She's taking me down there tonight."_

I sighed and dropped into a convenient chair to my right, setting my bag on the ground and running one hand back through my hair. "Okay. Where are you now?"

_"Just about to head back to the manor. How's it going with Blake?"_

I looked back and forth down the hall before answering, just to be sure no one would overhear. "I'm not sure we got anywhere with trying to locate Bane, although there's only so many places the bastard could be hiding. John Dagget's body turned up an hour ago though, and it's gotta be connected somehow. His name was all over documentation pertaining to the sewers and we already know he's responsible for Bane being in the country." I sighed again, chewed on my bottom lip. "It feels like we're building towards something here and none of us can see what it is."

Bruce sighed as well. _"I can stop this tonight."_

I wanted to agree, to cheer him on, but I held back. "I'm going to find out if Blake needs my help anymore today and then I'm coming home—I may just come home anyway. The kid is smart and Gordon likes him. He had most of the work done before I stated helping. I think he just needed another pair of eyes to help him see it." I leaned back in the chair, refocusing after my little tangent. "I should be plugged in for this."

Bruce was silent for a few seconds and I could picture him debating what he was going to say. _"I would like you plugged in."_

"Then I'll be there as soon as I can. See you later."

I hung up the phone without waiting for Bruce to say goodbye because I knew he wouldn't, and I sat there with my phone in my hand and let the apprehension I had about Bruce going to meet Bane gnaw away at my stomach. He knew it was risky though, so there was no point in telling him I was worried. I leaned forward, dropping my head into my hands, my phone pressed against my forehead.

"Everything all right?"

I looked up as Blake came out into the hall and nodded. "Yeah. Just a little worried." I got to my feet, dropped my phone into my bag before slinging it back over my shoulder. "So what's the plan now?"

Blake's face broke out in a grin. "Well, since I was just promoted to detective, I'm going to put some of my newly available resources to work and help organize a better, wider search of the sewers while still chasing down some of these leads," he said, raising the sheaf of papers baring Daggett's name. "You're welcome to continue helping, but I sense you have other places you'd rather be."

"Congratulations on the promotion," I said sincerely. "But you're right, I do. But I'll have my phone with me. I might be able to put some of my resources to good use as well."

Blake nodded and started walking down the hall. I fell in step beside him. "I'll keep that in mind. Do you want a ride back to Wayne Manor?"

"Please."

-

It started to drizzle on the drive out of the city, and by the time I stepped out of Blake's cruiser, the drizzle had turned to a downpour. I thanked Officer Blake for the ride when he came to a stop behind my car, and climbed the front steps. It felt a little odd approaching the big house from the front; normally I would have gone in the kitchen, but without Alfred there I wasn't entirely sure the door would be open and there was no doorbell to alert Bruce to my presence there. So, I tried the front door and found it unlocked.

Bruce appeared in the hall as I was shutting the door. "You shouldn't leave the door unlocked," I said, turning the deadbolt. "You may not have any money anymore, but there are still things people would want to steal."

"I guess I still have a lot to learn."

I smiled at Bruce, but the expression died off when I realized the serious look on his face. I set my bag down on the table by the door, hung my jacket on the rack so it could drip dry. "What is it?" I asked.

Bruce didn't say anything right away. I crossed the entrance hall to stand in front of him, standing closer than we had earlier that day, though I didn't touch him, as much as I wanted to. As with earlier, it was him who closed the distance between us. I leaned my shoulder against the wall and looked up at him as he leaned against the wall as well.

"Apologies have never been my strong suit," he said quietly.

My eyes went wide before I could stop them. Bruce's statement was correct—even before Batman, he'd never been one to say he was sorry, which made for some interesting situations when we were children—but I'd never really expected apologies from him about anything. We'd reached a place where we could work things out without apologies. It worked better for the both of us and I tried not to question or mess with things that worked.

"Bruce—"

"Eleanor, let me talk." One corner of his mouth pulled upwards, silent laughter at my tendency for cutting him off. "I can't apologize for not being over Rachel or the life I thought she and I would have together—I'm not someone who lets things go." I opened my mouth to say something but a look from Bruce kept my quiet. I could tell he'd been thinking about what he was going to say for a while, so I pressed my lips together tightly. "I can however, apologize for not telling you, though discussing feelings isn't one of my strong suits, either."

I did touch him them, reaching forward to put my hand on his chest, above his heart. There were tears pushing at the backs of my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall. I leaned into Bruce a bit more.

"I am sorry, and I do love you, Eleanor," he said voice so low I might not have heard it had he been any farther away.

"I know that." My own voice came out quiet and a little strained under the weight of my emotions, but I kept it in check. "I never thought otherwise. You wouldn't have let me stay if you didn't."

"I should have told you more. I let you get lost in everything else that was going on in my head over the past three years."

"This is starting to sound like a goodbye, Bruce." I wanted to back away when I said it, to see his face better, but I moved closer instead, putting my chin on his shoulder, curling against him. "You'll come back from tonight."

Bruce wrapped his arms around me and held me that close, every last bit of space gone between us. I lifted my head and kissed him before he could say anything else, before he, being the pragmatic bastard he was, told me he might not come back. I knew the reality, but he'd always come back before, and damn it, we weren't done. We weren't done apologizing, we weren't done figuring each other out, we weren't done being together. I kissed him harder, slid my arms up and around his neck, wound the fingers of one hand into his hair. Bruce's arms tightened around my waist until he was nearly crushing me to him, his lips a hard heat on mine.

Somewhere in the following flurry of kissing and clawing at clothing, the lights Bruce had turned on went out, casting the entrance hall and the living room we moved to into darkness. The dim light from outside, blocked by clouds and rain, did little to illuminate our way, but Bruce and I knew the house and we knew each other, and when we fell back onto the couch, we were laughing between pants and gasps, barely enough space between us to breathe.

-

When I woke up, I was sprawled on the floor, wrapped in several blankets, and Bruce was nowhere to be seen. I scrambled about for a minute, digging for my watch or phone or something to tell me what time it was, cursing loudly when I saw how late it was. I cursed again as I pulled on my clothes, the second time for Bruce for letting me sleep. I shoved my phone in my pocket and made my way to the cave, hoping it wasn't all over, hoping there was still something I could do.

The cave was quiet when I stepped out of the elevator, the only sound the rush of the water and the soft electrical noises from the bank of computers. I sat down in front of the array of screens and pulled the headset on, pushing my messy hair back out of the way to get it in place.

I didn't hear anything except what might have been footsteps on rock, water pouring down from somewhere. I didn't hear the normal static, didn't hear Bruce breathing. Everything sounded more open. It sounded wrong.

I narrowed my eyes, turned up the volume. "Are you there?" I asked.

No response.

I turned to the computers, keyed in the sequence to bring up the biofeeds from Bruce's suit. His heart rate was slower than it should have been, but it was there. He was alive. Everything else looked normal. The GPS tracker said he was still in Gotham. Why wasn't he answering?

"Can you hear me?" My voice was quiet, tight. I was starting to get scared. There weren't even any noises of acknowledgement. There was nothing.

I turned my attention back to the computers, checked to see if the audio feeds I normally listened to had been recorded even though I hadn't been there— _God damn it Bruce, what were you thinking?_ They had been. Something cold slithered up into my chest and made it hard to breathe. My hands hovered over the keys. I was afraid to press play, to hear what had happened. But Bruce was alive. Wherever he was, whatever had happened, he was alive right then.

I hit play.

I listened as Batman met up with Catwoman in the subway tunnels, listened as they made their way through the darkness, fought through Bane's men. Catwoman's heels clicked on the stone and gravel like claws, and Batman moved nearly silently; it seemed playing vigilante was a lot like riding a bike, the skills coming back when you needed them. I listened when Bane entered the picture, his voice deep and rough even over the headset and through his mask. I heard Catwoman apologize, heard Bane call Batman "Mr. Wayne," stripping away any pretense of anonymity, of Bane being just another thug.

Selina had led Bruce down there to give him to Bane.

The bitch had led him into a trap.

The all-too-familiar sounds of fighting filled my ears then, drawing my attention away from thoughts of Selina. Bane hit hard. He was relentless. The cold fear in my chest spread to my stomach, my throat, and I couldn't move. I was frozen there to listen as Bane taunted Bruce, hurt him, broke him. I heard Bruce struggling to breathe and there were tears in my eyes. I leaned forward, hands gripping at the surface of the desk, my jaw clenched.

There was a sickening crush amongst the noises of fighting, startling me and making the chill inside drop. Bane was saying something, but I couldn't focus on his words, just the repeated cracks and crunches and whines that told me he was slamming Bruce's head against something hard, the cowl breaking, the communication device severing from the rest of the Batsuit. I could still hear soft whimpers and other noises of pain from Bruce though. They were faint, but they were there.

I was angry. Angry and scared and there were tears on my cheeks.

A new beeping noise caught my attention and I yanked the headset off my head, heedless of it catching in my hair. The biofeeds from Bruce's suit had gone dead. The computer was telling me it could now longer connect to the Batsuit.

The computer screens swam in front of my eyes. I felt light-headed. Dizzy. I inhaled sharply, trying to get air, but the breath shuddered on the exhale and a fresh wave of tears spilled down my face. I leaned heavier on the desk. I was ice inside and I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream because there was nothing I could to stop what was happening, what had happened. I didn't know where Bruce was. I didn't know if he was still alive and someone had just removed the suit, or if he was dead, if there was no heartbeat to pick up.

My mind flashed back to hours earlier and I could feel Bruce's hands on me, hears his words as he told me he loved me, as I told him he would come back from this, refused to believe this might be goodbye.

He couldn't be dead.

We weren't done.

_Oh God._

I doubled over in the chair with a loud sob and I cried. I left the fear and anger control me for a few minutes, let it all out. I let myself be scared for Bruce, be angry, be sad. I let myself be mad at him for not waking me up, not having me here, listening, for the good it would have done. I let myself be mad at him for not listening to Alfred when the butler had warned Bruce of Bane's ferocity. I let myself be mad at Selina for betraying Batman to Bane and his thugs.

When the tears stopped and when I managed to bring myself under control, I sat back up, wiped my face. I took a few deep breaths, didn't let them shudder. I used all the techniques I'd learned in my martial arts classes to centre, to focus. Then, I picked up my phone and I called Blake. He was the only one left in Gotham who knew who Batman was and who I trusted. He was the only one who might be able to help. And, he wouldn't care that I was calling at three in the morning. This was an emergency and he would understand the magnitude of what I had to tell him.

He answered after the fifth ring, groggy, voice full of sleep.

"Selina Kyle took Batman to Bane. Bane either killed or incapacitated him. I don't know where they are now or if Bruce is even still alive, but without Batman around, I think Bane might be about to put his plan into action, whatever it is."

"Are you okay?"

I blinked, tears rushing into my eyes again. I wasn't sure Blake would have asked the question had he been more than partially awake, had we been having this conversation in daylight. Regardless, I pushed the tears away again. "No. Just let me know if you find Selina Kyle or any sign of Bane." I hung up without saying anything else, partly because there was nothing else to say and partly because I thought I might start crying again and I didn't want to do that on the phone.


	40. Unanswered Calls

"I know you won't get this for a few hours, but I needed to leave this message. It's important you get it and take me seriously." I took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. "Mom, Dad, you need to start your trip to Europe a few days earlier than you were planning. You can't ask me why, just do it. Please. I'll answer whatever questions you have as soon as I can, I promise, but you'll have to trust me for now. I love you two. Bye."

I hung up the phone, stared at the blank black screen for a minute. My eyes and cheeks itched with dried tears, my head pounding from lack of sleep. But I wasn't going to sleep. I'd cried all I was going to cry and I pushed my anger aside for now. I was numb. But numb was good for getting things done and I needed to do things or else I was going to go mad.

I may not have known what Bane was planning, but I knew he was going to target Gotham City and I knew I had to get the people I cared about out. I'd briefly wondered if I could get the city to issue an evacuation order, but I had no proof that Bane was even in the city and I was liable to be labeled crazy and ignored. So I would focus on doing what I could to get the people who would believe me out of the city, and then I would do what I could to help the city, and right now, that meant making phone calls at three in the morning and leaving messages intended to cause enough panic to get people to listen to me.

I sighed and dialed the next number—Sarah's. It rang a few times, the noise loud as it railed against my headache, and then the voicemail kicked in. "Hey Sarah, it's Eleanor. I'm sorry we haven't spoken in a while—that's totally on me—but I need you to listen to me now. I need you to take Aaron and I need you to get out of Gotham. Tell your parents to get out, any of your other friends. Just get out of the city as soon as you can, like today or tomorrow. You can't ask me why. I will answer your questions when I can, I promise, but please, please just get out and go somewhere far away. I love you Sarah. You've been a better friend than I deserve."

I'd started rambling towards the end and my breath shuttered as I hung up. My eyes itching with a fresh wave of emotion, I scrolled through my contacts to look for the last number I wanted to call before I found something else to do, something else to keep me distracted from the anger and pain I was feeling somewhere in the back of my mind. I didn't often call Alfred's cell phone—he didn't often have to rely on it as a method of communication—but since he'd left Bruce's employ, it was the only way to get a hold of him, especially since I didn't know where he'd gone.

It was the first and only phone call I made that morning that didn't go unanswered.

_"Ms. Black?"_

I was startled by Alfred picking up. It took me a few seconds to find my voice and to reach the realization that Alfred had caller ID on his phone. "Sorry to bother you Alfred—I didn't wake you, did I?"

_"It's no bother, and no, you did not wake me. Is everything all right?"_

My breath shuddered again and I pushed the hair back from my face, forced my eyes wide to keep the tears from falling. "No, no it's not, Alfred." I inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Selina led Bruce to Bane, but it was a trap. I don't know if he's alive or even where he is."

Alfred was silent for a long time. _"I should come back."_

"No, don't do that. Bane's going to make his move soon, I can feel it. With Batman gone, there's no one in his way. I don't think Gotham is going to be safe that much longer, Alfred."

_"You should get out of the city."_

I gave a bitter and hollow laugh. "You know I'm not going to do that."

_"I know, but I wish you would. Eleanor,"_ he said, his tone and the usage of my first name betraying the serious nature of his next words, _"You do not need to risk your life for Master Bruce's obsessions."_

"I'm not going to leave the city. There's still a chance that Bruce is alive, and if he is, if he can, he'll come back here, and I'm not going to leave Gotham to the mercy of Bane. I don't know what I can do, but I'm going to do something. I just called to tell you to stay away Alfred. Maybe keep an ear open for any news about Bane or Bruce. I honestly have no idea where they took him if he's still alive."

Alfred sighed and though his voice was even, I knew he would be fighting his own emotions over the news about Bruce. How could he not be? I wanted to comfort him, but I was kind of mad. I'd been listening to him fight Bruce' convictions for years, even supported him to some degree, but now that he had turned those attentions to me, I was mad. It didn't make sense, even to me. I knew I wasn't making the smartest choice in staying, but I was making the only choice I could as far as I saw things. I almost gave into my anger and hung up the phone, but I stopped myself. At three in the morning, running on no sleep, and fueled by intense emotions as I was, my judgement was not liable to be the best.

_"Be careful Eleanor, whatever you decide to do."_

"I will Alfred."

I did hang up the phone then, unsure of what to say next; I didn't trust myself enough to continue speaking anyway. I'd thought about calling Lucius as well, but if I knew the older man as well as I thought I did, he wouldn't leave any more than I would. He also had a company to run and besides, his knowledge might come in handy. I dropped the phone on the desk and then I sat there for a few minutes, head propped against the back of the chair, eyes on the cave ceiling above me, trying to stop my head from reeling, to stop the tears I could feel pushing at my eyes from falling. It took a while, but I did manage to get myself back under control, to once again achieve the state of numbness that would allow me to continue moving, slogging through the haze of confusion and pain.

-

It was just after dawn when the knock came at the door. I was just finishing gathering up everything I thought I might need from the cave, from the manor, anything that might be useful—clothes, gadgets, supplies, whatever. I set the cases holding the bows Bruce and I had used to teach ourselves archery down and headed for the massive front doors.

I found Officer Blake standing there, concern plain on his young face. "Good morning," I mumbled, too shocked to come up with something more suited for my mood. I didn't wait for a reply, just turned back into the hall and my pile of bags.

Blake followed me in and shut the door behind us. He surveyed the bags and boxes I'd stacked near the kitchen and the worn state of my features; I must have looked like hell. Wisely, he didn't comment on that latter. "Heading into the city?" he asked, voice cautious.

"Yeah. I'm sure as shit not staying here by myself." I cast a furtive look over my shoulder at the house, as if I expected the thoughts haunting my head to manifest behind me. Wayne Manor was too big and too empty for me to stay in by myself, and it was too far away from Gotham to get into the city quickly. I squeezed my eyes shut quickly before turning back to Blake. "Did you need something?"

"Your help if you're up for it. We're going to find Selina Kyle and get some answers, and then we're going to find Bane and figure out what he's been using Daggett's construction companies and permits for."

"Give me some time to get my shit to my apartment and I'm in," I said without hesitation, the idea of getting at Selina enormously appealing. "I need to keep myself busy to keep from going crazy. I… I'm not even sure what I'm feeling right now."

Blake nodded and it was clear he understood. He didn't offer any explanation and I didn't ask for one. However, he did help me lug my bags through the kitchen door to where I'd parked my car without a word, and between the two of us, it only took a few minutes to load up the vehicle. I stood beside the driver's door when we were finished and matched Blake's steady gaze, the gaze I'd felt on me pretty much the whole time we'd worked. He might have been waiting for me to snap or to show any signs of the mental duress I was under. I met his gaze with a blank face and hoped it was convincing.

"Will you be able to keep yourself under control when we find Selina?" he asked.

I nodded immediately, though I wasn't one-hundred percent sure it was true. I had purposefully been avoiding all thoughts of Selina since listening to that recording because those thoughts made my blood boil, my heart pound, my vision red. I wasn't going to tell Blake that though. There was about a fifty-fifty chance I could keep myself reined in when we found Selina and I was determined to try.

"I'll follow you back to your apartment then we'll head out."

I nodded again.

So, about forty minutes later, after unloading everything into my dusty apartment, I found myself in the unmarked police car Blake was driving since his recent promotion, the sounds of the engine and of the tires on the pavement the only noise in the early morning. Gotham was barely awake around us, but I didn't mind. I'd always found the city oddly peaceful at this time of the morning and, looking out the window as the buildings flickered past, it was easier to remain calm. Blake followed the path he'd taken just the day before until we were parked outside Selina's apartment in the same spot as the day before, eyes glued to the door.

I could feel the tension in Blake as we waited, knew he wanted to ask about Bruce, about what I'd heard, what I knew for sure. Part of me wanted to talk about it because maybe, just maybe, it would help, but overall I was glad the police officer remained silent. The numb state I'd managed to exist in all morning was beginning to fade; I was growing exhausted fighting to keep my thoughts blocked off and any trigger, regardless of how small, might break the camel's back, so to speak.

Either luckily or unluckily depending how you look at it, we weren't waiting in the car for too long.

Selina Kyle, dressed to the nines in clothing brought with stolen money or stolen outright, strode out onto the sidewalk, pulling a suitcase behind her, and hailed a cab. Her face was mostly obscured by a pair of large sunglasses, but judging from the set of her mouth, the way she held her shoulders, she wasn't overly happy.

Blake radioed in the location of the Congressmen's kidnapper—in the midst of everything, I'd forgotten her escapades at the Harvey Dent Day celebration—and that he was in pursuit. He turned the car around on the narrow street and followed the yellow cab. He didn't turn the sirens on, but after a few minutes we were joined by two more unmarked cars, making our pursuit all the more conspicuous. Or maybe it just appeared that way to me. Blake and I exchanged a quick look as we pulled onto the highway, headed for the airport.

"She's running," I said, my voice coming out a little strained. She couldn't get away. Not after what she'd done.

"We'll stop her."

The cab pulled up outside the main terminal of Gotham's airport and Selina got out, gratefully accepting assistance with her bags after paying her fare. I spotted the other officers heading into the airport, flanking the cat burglar, though this was going to be Blake's takedown. That was clear. I stayed close behind Blake as we moved through the morning crowd, my eyes never leaving the bobbing shape of Selina's hat. One of the other cops alerted airport security and I was suddenly aware of several more armed figures moving in tandem with us through the terminal, ushering other passengers away from the immediate area.

The longer we followed Selina, the looser I felt the hold on my anger get. I kept hearing her voice as her and Bruce made their way through the subway tunnels, kept hearing the noises of pain Bruce made as Bane relentlessly attacked. With the remembered words came the scenes I'd imagined, the beating, the blood, the pain. Bruce had gone down there alone, she'd left him to the wolves, and now I didn't know if he was alive or dead. I didn't know where he was. Whatever walls I'd managed to put up around the thought, the possibility that Bruce might be dead, came crashing down, rage filling me. And it was all because of Selina, because she'd betrayed Bruce for some fucking computer program to clear all her sins from the world.

The world went red and I started looking for an opportunity to break away from Blake. I wasn't thinking about my company being police officers. I wasn't thinking about any of the consequences I might suffer. I was only thinking about getting to Selina, about making her pay for what she'd done.

It was just past security when I got my chance.

I got waved passed the barriers and metal detectors first and, without hesitating, took off. I heard Blake yell my name, but I didn't pay any attention. I should never have told Blake I'd be okay. I should have never let him bring me along. Not for this.

There was some rational part of my brain screaming at me to stop, but like so many times before, the rational part—the part that had told me to leave Bruce when he withdrew from the world, the part that had told me to leave Batman when things got serious, the part that had told me to get out of the dark world of vigilante justice Bruce had built—lost out to the instinctual voice. I let everything I was feeling fill me up and I ran for Selina.

I didn't tackle her off her stilettos, though I thought about it. Instead, I grabbed the sleeve of her designer jacket, forcibly turned her towards me, and drove my shoulder into her chest, moving her backwards until she slammed against the wall and we were away from the crowd. I landed a solid punch to her ribs and caught her cheek with my other elbow as she made to counter, my training and the fact that I'd caught her by surprise the only reason I was able to get the hits in. I'd known if I didn't move fast, she would get the drop of me. She made a move to retaliate, but I wrapped my hand around her throat and slammed her head back against the wall, bracing my other arm across her chest and using my superior weight to hold her in place.

"Who the hell are you?" she gasped, her face livid.

I didn't answer, just squeezed her neck a little tighter and brought my knee up into her stomach. I let her go just as Blake came up behind me and grabbed the back of my jacket, hauling me backwards several steps and nearly throwing me to the ground. Being forced back made me want to attack her again and I actually took a few steps forward before Blake stopped me, grabbing my shoulder tightly.

"What the hell was that?" he asked.

I glared at Blake then at Selina over his shoulder. "What do you think?"

Blake turned back to Selina, the wanted criminal more of a threat than me at the moment. Selina, one hand on her neck, narrowed her eyes at me and lunged, Blake stepping between us to intervene. Using speed I hadn't thought him capable of, Blake caught Selina's arms and cuffed her wrists in front of her. With authority not requiring a word, Black moved Selina down the hall to an empty room and I followed. Two of the other cops took up positions outside the door as I shut it behind us.

"Someone want to tell me what this is all about?" Selina snapped.

"You're under arrest Ms. Kyle."

"Obviously. I meant her," she said, using her chin to indicate me.

Blake held up a hand to stop me before I could speak. "We'll get to her." A knock at the door sounded, louder than it should have been above the tension. "Eleanor, can you get that?"

I went to the door and opened it, taking the thick file and the slip of paper the cop on the other side handed me; he must have gone out to Blake's car to retrieve the file. With a nod, I closed the door again and handed the papers to Blake, who quickly scanned the lone sheet before dropping the lot on the table between him and Selina. He settled into a waiting chair and, as Selina was already seated across from him, I took the last remaining chair, situated to Blake's left.

"We showed your picture to the Congressmen, Ms. Kyle."

"Don't tell me, he's still in love?"

"Oh, head over heels. He's pressing charges though," he added with a controlled smirk. The young cop tapped the thick file. "I'm curious as to how you thought you could get away with the kidnapping and then run with a trail like this behind you? You can't hide from us with this record."

"Maybe it's not you I'm running from," she sneered.

"Who then? Bane? What do you know about him?"

"That you should stop looking for him. That you should be as afraid of him as I am."

I'd had enough of sitting still, of listening to Blake question her. Damning the consequences, I got to my feet and advanced on Selina again. I sat on the table in front of her, blocking Blake's view. For a few seconds, I just held her gaze. "Where did you take Batman when you led him to Bane?" I asked. My voice was quiet and tight. I really wanted to hit her again, but somehow I didn't think that would get her to tell me anything any faster.

She matched my gaze, didn't flinch. Something did change in her expression though, something softened—maybe she'd seen something in my eyes? "The maintenance shafts underneath Wayne Enterprises," she said quietly.

I swallowed, my brain filling in all the terrible possibilities of what Bane could do with access to Wayne Enterprises. "Did they kill him?" I asked. My voice broke over the words and I saw Selina's eyes widen. She didn't answer though, and that was enough for me. I pushed forward, seizing her around the neck again. "Did they kill him?!" I yelled.

"I don't know!"

Blake's hands were on my arms, pulling me off Selina again and I let him, though I shrugged out of his grip almost immediately and made for the door, breaking into the hallway before the tears had started falling.

I'd wanted an answer, been so sure she could give me one, but I still didn't know if Bruce was alive or dead. She didn't have an answer. I didn't have an answer. The air left my lungs in a rush and I fell back against the wall, gasping and sobbing and waving away the assistance of the cops standing guard. I sunk to my butt on the floor and dropped my head into my arms where they were braced on bent knees. Bruce couldn't be dead. I would know, wouldn't I? I loved him more than anything. I would know. There was no way he was dead. He would come back. He always came back. After all the fights I'd heard, the explosions, he always came back.

I sucked in a deep breath and lifted my head, pushed my hair back from my face, eyes closed. I wasn't listening this time. I wasn't waiting on Bruce. I loved Bruce and needed him to be alive, but I couldn't go running off looking for him, not when I didn't even know where to begin. I'd made the decision in the wee hours of the morning that, whatever happened, I would be right in the middle of it. I'd do what I could and if Bruce came back— _he will come back Eleanor, don't give up_ —he could come back to whatever Gotham existed then.

I dropped my head back until it hit the wall and squeezed my eyes shut tight, until it hurt. My head was racing with thoughts of Bruce, of what I could do to help Gotham, to stop Bane, of leaving the city, of going with my parents, of finding Bruce. I didn't know what to do next.

"You ready to go look for Bane?"

I looked up at Blake, startled. "You're going to let me help you still? I didn't exactly keep my cool."

"Commissioner Gordon authorized me to use whatever means necessary to find him and you want to find him more than anyone." He extended his hand down and helped me to my feet. "And hey, maybe your temper will come in handy."

I smiled, though I wasn't sure how I was still capable of the expression, and took a few more deep breaths. The torrent in my head slowed with the decision to help Blake look for Bane. The key really was keeping busy, keeping focused on task after task. "All right then. Let's go try and find this masked bastard."


	41. A New Partner

Though it was probably a good thing I didn't see it, I was kind of mad I missed seeing Selina hauled off in handcuffs and shoved in the back of one of the other police cars. Blake was right to keep me away from her though, I knew that. I wasn't about to misjudge my control again. I couldn't. Not if I was going to be of any help to Blake while we searched for Bane and definitely not when we found him. Once Selina was safely on her way to Blackgate prison, Blake and I climbed back into his cruiser and headed back into town, back towards the hospital, so Blake could talk to Gordon.

"I'm not arguing the point, but do we have to go in person to tell him that Batman isn't coming back anytime soon, if at all?" My voice broke over the last few words, but I tried to act like it hadn't happened. I had several reason for not wanting to go to the hospital, none of which I was really keen on discussing with Blake, especially since the reasons were more at home in a twelve year old child than a woman who was nearly forty. "Can't you just tell him over the phone?"

Blake ignored the slip. Good man. "I need to tell the Commissioner in person."

There was finality to his voice that I recognized—Bruce took on the same tone when he'd made up his mind and I knew there was no hope of changing it. I sighed and nodded, as if my agreement had any bearing on the situation. I could yell and scream and try to make my case, tell Blake I didn't really want to do anything that reminded me of Bruce right then, tell him I didn't want to find out my parents were still in Gotham, but it wasn't worth it. Not if he was anywhere near as stubborn as Bruce.

I chewed on my bottom lip and tried to get thoughts of Bruce out of my head.

"Okay. Does Gordon know who Batman is?" I asked, the thought striking me rather suddenly.

"No, and to be honest, I don't think he's spent a whole lot of time thinking about it. It never mattered to him was beneath the mask. All that mattered was when Batman stood for—stands for."

Blake looked at me quickly as we pulled back into the city, skyscrapers once again rising around us in a blur of mirrored glass; the city was much busier now, much louder, though it was still only mid-morning. I heard the cop sigh, but I wasn't looking at him. I was staring out the window, trying not to think about Bruce in the past tense. Trying to think of ways to explain who exactly I was to be helping Blake. I rubbed my face vigorously a few times, trying to wake up, to find my way back to my normal level of competency. Blake mistook the action for an attempt to stop tears.

"He's never stopped believing in Batman though."

"I know," I said, voice clipped. "I've spoken to him a few times at the Harvey Dent Day celebrations. I just feel like there's something else we could be doing to look for Bane." There, that sounded like a reasonable excuse. "I'm not saying the Commissioner doesn't need to know about Batman, because he does. I know he does."

"He's had copies of all the files and permits we pulled on Daggett. He might have something to contribute, something to narrow our search."

I huffed, but I did look at Blake then, gave him a small smile. He sounded so earnest, so young. "I've already agreed to this."

That earned a short chuckle and the mood lightened considerably. I even felt a little bit better.

We made the rest of the drive in near silence, the faint buzzing from the police equipment the only sounds. I took a moment before getting out of the car when we arrived at Gotham Central, both to try and centre myself and to prepare myself for the chance my parents hadn't listened to my message or hadn't made it out of the city yet. I was going to check with the nurses, but I was scared to find out what the answer would be. They couldn't be here for whatever Bane was planning.

The hallway smelled clean and sterile as always. I motioned for Blake to go on ahead to Gordon's room—I knew where it was, I'd find it—and made my way to the nurses' station on the ground floor. It was bustling with activity as usual, but I was glad to see a familiar face sitting at one of the computer stations. I didn't remember the woman's name, but I knew she'd worked with my mother for years as her scrub nurse and we'd exchanged plenty of polite small talk over that time. She saw me approaching and smiled, big and wide and genuine, and I forced a similar grin onto my face, hoping it didn't look as hollow as it felt.

"Eleanor! What are you doing here?"

I snagged a look at her ID badge. "Hey Katherine. Oh, I'm going up to visit a friend, I just wanted to see if my parents left for Europe yet. I called them early this morning and no one picked up and they didn't answer their cells." Little lie, but I couldn't very well tell her what was actually going on.

"Oh yes honey, they did. They were here for a couple of hours earlier, getting things all sorted. Neither of them had any surgeries scheduled, since they were leaving in two days anyway, so it was no trouble to get them sent on their way a little bit early." She gave me a slightly suspicious glance. "You don't know why they'd want to leave a few days earlier, do you?"

"Uhm, well Mom mentioned something about wanting to spend some more time in Ireland."

"That must be it, then."

I smiled at Katherine again, tried not to show how relieved I was. "Okay, well I just wanted to check. I probably have a message waiting at home. Mom always forgets to call my cell."

"That sounds like your mother."

I laughed obligingly and then politely excused myself before heading for the elevators and Gordon's room a few floors up, sighing heavily when I was secluded in the elevator car. I checked my phone while I was thinking about it and found a lengthy text from Sarah, relaying another piece of news to lift weight from my shoulders:

_Eleanor, of course I trust you. I have questions though, but I'll wait. Promise. Aaron and I are in New York at his house in the Hamptons anyway, so no need to worry about me. My parents are in the Caribbean somewhere and I ushered as many people away from Gotham as I could, though it was difficult without any information. You should take your own warning by the sounds of it. Call me when you can. XOXO_

I smiled a little to myself as I stepped out of the elevator, returning my phone to my pocket as I moved down the hall. I knew before I'd even entered the room that Foley was in there as well. His voice carried, banishing all thoughts of relief at the safety of my family. I took a deep breath and stepped into the room, but I wasn't met with any hostility, not this time. There was something else going on.

"What happened?" I asked, taking in the look on Blake's face, the look that said this was something I would want to know.

"Bane kidnapped the Wayne Enterprises board," Gordon said.

"What?"

"No one has been hurt yet, but we don't know what he's after."

My first thought was the reactor, the one from the Clean Energy project, but it was secreted away under the river and very few people knew about it. Bane couldn't be one of them. Could he? "Do you know—"

Gordon raised a hand and even lying in bed, hooked up to a bunch of machines and looking oh so pale, he managed to be commanding. It might have also been because I respected the man, but I shut up. I'd find out from Blake if they'd spoken to anyone, to Lucius. Damn it, I should have called him and told him to leave Gotham as well.

"Get every cop out there looking for Bane— _every_ cop. Smoke him out."

Foley looked exasperated. "The mayor won't want panic."

"The mayor will like another attack like the stock exchange even less than a little panic—"

"It could be a training exercise," Blake interjected, face slightly apologetic. I hoped just for the interruption, because calling a mass pouring of armed police men into the sewers of Gotham a training exercise was a good idea. It was an obvious idea, but it was good, because it would fly.

Foley looked to Gordon, who nodded, and then left, the officers he'd brought with him following him out. Gordon gestured to Blake and then to me, bringing us closer to the bed. His eyes shone out of a tired face, but he was glad to finally be moving against Bane, to have a lead that was more than word of mouth, more than smoke. He looked younger, like the cop he'd been when Bruce had first become Batman.

"Ms. Black, correct?" I nodded. "All right Ms. Black, I'm assuming you've got some connection to the Batman and that's why Blake has asked for your help. No," he said, cutting me off when I opened my mouth, "I don't need any explanations. If you can help us against Bane, then I am more than willing to utilize your skills and resources, whatever they may be. We'll deal with any paperwork about recruiting a civilian later." The Commissioner took a drink of water from the plastic cup on his nightstand. "Blake's told me Bane got to Batman and that he might not be coming back to Gotham, so while Foley mobilizes the troops, so to speak, I want you to help Blake chase down the rest of these Daggett leads."

"The construction permits?" I asked.

"Yes. They've got to be connected somehow. There's no logical reason for Daggett to have had so many construction crews at work all over the city at once."

Blake pulled out a map of the city and spread it on the little table Gordon had positioned above his lap. There were lots of circles on the map, marking the sites where Daggett's men had been working. Most of them were crossed out with X's. "There are only seven active sites left of all the ones listed in the permits, and Daggett has three cement plants in the city. We'll start here," Blake pointed at the site closest to the hospital, relatively speaking, "and work our way north." He looked to Gordon and added, "One of us will call in if we find anything relevant."

"Good. I'll keep you apprised of Foley's situation. Hopefully he can get everyone mobilized at the same time the football game starts to keep the media's attention away."

-

It took us all of two construction sites and a couple of Daggett's cement plants to find anything important. We pulled into the large lot of another plant, Blake heading for the first people we spotted—it seemed the plant was winding down for the afternoon. Or maybe they were waiting for more supplies. Who knew. Whatever the reason, we only saw the two men standing around. As Blake parked the car, his eyes narrowed.

"That man was at the stock exchange the day of the attack. He was blocking the road with one of those cement trucks."

I made to get out of the car after Blake, but he gestured for me to stay put. I'd agreed to follow his lead since I was, technically, a civilian, so I huffed and sat back in my seat to watch, though I did unbuckle my seatbelt and keep one hand on the door handle, just in case.

Thirty seconds into the conversation, one of the construction workers had drawn a knife and Blake had his gun out. I was out of the car and running across the short distance, but I couldn't move fast enough. Blake knocked the hand with the knife aside and shot the man in the chest, just like he'd been taught. The other man, the one he'd recognized, grabbed Blake from behind and tried to incapacitate him. Blake fired backwards at the cement truck and the bullet ricocheted into the man's back, sending him to the ground, crumpled like his partner.

They had moved like they'd been trained. They were Bane's men, not Daggett's.

It all happened in less than a minute and by the time I was in position to do anything, one man was down and Blake was squeezing down on his trigger a second time. The young cop dropped down after the man and found him dead and, disgusted, threw his gun away.

He didn't break down, though I could see the panic in his eyes, hear it in the heavy breaths. He pulled out his cellphone and called Gordon.

As he filled Gordon in, I checked the other man for a pulse, a breath, and found none. Both men were dead. Nothing more to be done for or with them. I wouldn't sit in the car next time, police regulations be damned, and I certainly wouldn't hesitate again, not even a second to try and determine the best course of action. I looked at the bodies for a few more seconds and thought I understood a little better why Bruce never killed anyone as Batman, why he never took that final step, even though the finality of death might make things easier. I didn't feel shocked or nauseated by the bodies, and I didn't feel sad—the men were mercenaries and had probably done all manner of terrible things—but I did feel their deaths were needless.

I looked up and found Blake staring at me, his eyes too wide, showing too much white. "I didn't want to kill them."

"I know that." I pushed myself out of the crouch I'd taken up and started looking around the closed-off area of the plant's lot. We were there—might as well look for clues. "Blake, over here."

He joined me in front of a large number of oil drums and plastic barrels, some white, some black. "Polyisobutylene," he read from a label on one of white containers. "What—that's motor oil."

We sighed in unison, the tension rising in the air as the panic rose inside us both. "Shit. Bane knew Gordon would send police into the sewers to look for him eventually—I'll bet any money on it. I bet he was counting on it."

Blake was already dialing. "They're pouring explosives." He handed me the cellphone and made for the car. "Tell Gordon! I'm going to radio dispatch, see if we can stop the operation!"

_"Gordon."_

"Sir, it's Eleanor Black. We found Polyisobutylene and motor oil at one of the cement plants. Sending the policemen into the sewers—it's a trap. Blake is already trying to get a hold of Foley." I endeavoured to keep my voice calm, but the idea of explosions going off all over Gotham scared the shit out of me. "We're heading that way now."

_"Good. I'll do what I can to get through to someone onsite as well."_

Gordon hung up and I followed suit, hurrying back to Blake's car and climbing in the front seat. He was cursing loudly at the radio as he hit the button again, trying to connect to dispatch. As soon as my door was shut however, he peeled out of the lot and made for the entrance to the tunnels the cops were using. I hurriedly buckled myself in and grabbed onto the handle above the door, bracing my feet against the floor to keep as steady as possible as Blake sped through the streets of Gotham, sirens blaring and lights flashing.

Finally, he got through to Foley, told him about the explosives, the trap.

Foley gave the order to get everyone out. We heard that much.

But it didn't matter.

Blake turned the next corner, onto a nearly empty side street, intending to take a shortcut.

There was a resonating thud I felt in my chest, followed by a thunderous boom, followed by screams.

The staccato beat of explosions sounding far away, getting closer.

The street exploded around us, the car lifted into the air.

We were spinning, hovering for what seemed like hours, watching debris fly across the sky, crack against the windshield.

When the eternal moment ended, time slamming back to normal speed, the car feel, the roof crunching against the shattered asphalt, my heart racing, blood pounding in my ears.


	42. Let the Games Begin

"Eleanor? Are you all right?"

I blinked a few times, my brain trying to catch up with what had just happened, my ears ringing, head buzzing. My chest, neck, and hips hurt from the seatbelt, and my head ached from the noise, sudden movement, and a sharp knock against the door, but otherwise I seemed all right. Little bit of blood from some cuts and scrapes, but I could feel all my limbs and I didn't feel dizzy. Lucky. The last thing I needed right then was a concussion or some other injury which would render me useless.

"Yeah, I think so." I braced one arm against the roof of the car as I undid my seatbelt with the other—thankfully it still worked—and dropped onto my hands and knees, the world spinning slightly as the blood in my head rushed back down. My knees protested the contact, but I could live with sore joints. "How about you?" I looked over my shoulder, found Blake already freed and climbing out of the shattered window.

"I'm fine."

"Good."

Using my sleeve-covered arm, I knocked the rest of the glass out of the window frame and shimmied out onto the street where I stood upright and stretched; the pain in my chest where the seatbelt had been worsened and I knew I was going to have some lovely bruises. As I was shaking the glass fragments out of my hair, Blake wrestled the trunk open to retrieve a rifle, and then he started jogging down the street, back to the busier roads. I followed, slow at first, to make sure there weren't any injuries I hadn't discovered yet, and speeding up when nothing protested too loudly.

"We've got to find another car—get back to the hospital. If Bane wants the cops out of the way…"

"He'll send men after Gordon."

I upped my speed, pushing ahead of Blake and out onto the four-lane road we'd turned off of just before the explosions started. There were still some cars moving around, heading for the bridges, the tunnel, the ways out of Gotham. The first several cars didn't stop, everyone frantically trying to get away. I doubt they even saw me. I kept waving frantically, until I caught the attention of an SUV. Blake held up his badge as he came to a stop beside me and the man pulled over.

"GCPD sir, I'm afraid we need your car."

The man looked unsure, but he climbed out from behind the wheel. Blake shot him an apologetic look before we shut the doors and Blake sped off, the rifle tucked between his leg and the door.

-

At the hospital, everyone was running around, panicked. Nurses and doctors were checking on patients and families, people were fighting to get to their loved ones, and everyone was trying to find out, figure out what the hell had happened. People were shrieking and yelling and crying. It was chaos, but somehow, in the middle of it all we found a nurse who had seen two thuggish men with guns go by, heading for the stairs. Blake and I took the elevator.

"Do you know how to fire a gun?" he asked, pulling his pistol from its holster at his hip and handing it to me once the elevator doors had slid closed.

"Point and shoot?"

Blake rolled his eyes, quickly showed me the safety switch and the correct way to hold the gun if I was going to pull the trigger. I didn't want the weapon, but I took it anyway, making sure the safety was on. Blake probably wanted me armed, just in case something nasty went down, but I wasn't going to use the gun. Not as a gun, anyway. Maybe as a blunt object for bludgeoning.

The elevator came to a stop and I followed Blake into the deserted hall; it seemed everyone was securely in various rooms or in the hubbub on the ground floor. The cop who had been stationed outside Gordon's door was lying on the floor, crumpled and lifeless, blood pooling on the linoleum beneath him. I crouched down and checked for a pulse anyway, Blake sliding into Gordon's room. I got to my feet again when I didn't find a pulse. I couldn't hear anything from the room but the faint hum of a television on low volume, and the steady beeping of the monitors as I hovered by the door, waiting for all the all-clear.

"Clear the corners, rookie."

At the sounds of Gordon's voice, I poked my head around the corner and found the older man out of bed, leads still attached to his chest and robe still flapping about his legs. Two men and two guns lay sprawled and scattered across the floor and Gordon held his service weapon in his hands. The gun wasn't pointed at me or Blake, but it wasn't pointed down either; Gordon was on high alert, and rightfully so.

"We've got to get out of here, sir," Blake said.

I moved out of the doorway and nudged one of the dead men's legs with the toe of my shoe. "When those two don't come back, I'm sure Bane will send more men to find out what happened."

Gordon nodded and started gathering his things from around the room. Blake remained by the door, watching and waiting for anyone, and I moved to the window. The chaos outside seemed to have turned inward, the streets clogged as people ran, presumably trying to get somewhere safe, somewhere Bane's men might not find them. Dust and smoke filled the air and even from where I was standing, I could see several gaping holes in the concrete, and I could just make out one of the many bridges leading to and from Gotham. It wouldn't be leading anyone anywhere though, not anytime soon.

Bane had blown out the bridges, effectively isolating Gotham.

Why though? What was his endgame?

Why was he attacking Gotham? Did this have something to do with his The League of Shadows?

But Bane had been excommunicated. Why would he try and finished Ra's al Ghul's work?

I turned my back on the city, a different sort of rage rising inside. "Did you see what started this?" I asked Gordon, my voice coming out quite low and tight.

The police commissioner shook his head. "I was attacked just after it started, but there was some sort of commotion at the football game. I think the explosions started there."

Jaw and fists clenched, I moved across the room to stand in front of the television.

Footage was still rolling from the football stadium, though there was nothing of note happening now—maybe someone had forgotten to shut off the camera, maybe no one was paying attention; there certainly were more important, more immediate things happening. The field had imploded, broken bodies lying scatted among the concrete and grass where it had fallen into the locker rooms below. Spectators had gathered to help lift the players who had survived out of the hole. In the middle of everything though, lay one more body. It was hard to make out any details, other than it was a man's body and it looked like no one had touched him since he'd dropped. His head was lying at an odd angle. Someone had broken his neck.

I narrowed my eyes at the screen, wishing I could zoom in, see the man's face. Something was nagging at the corner of my mind, telling me I might know something more about the man, but I couldn't put any trust in it. It was just a feeling and I couldn't see his face worth a damn. If I was lucky, I could find the footage via the computers in the bunker, the satellite Batcave in the city, and get some real answers.

"Ms. Black?"

"Call me Eleanor," I said out of habit. I met Gordon's gaze and realized I was holding up our evacuation of the hospital. "Right. Let's go."

We made it out of Gotham Central without incident, though the hospital hadn't calmed down at all, or gotten any less quiet. It was almost a relief to make it outside where all the noise was distant and I felt a little removed from the panic, though the slight reprieve had no effect on my anger.

Blake led the way back to the SUV, all three of us alert and waiting for any sign of further attack, which we found around the corner.

Both of the men were huge, dangerous-looking, and armed with rifles. The only advantage we had was that there were three of us. I would have claimed we had the element of surprise, but I think both parties were equally startled by the sudden appearance of the other.

I moved first, putting myself between the cops and their guns and the attackers. Rifles were pretty much useless at close range, but even so, I wasn't wearing armour of any kind and the move was stupid. I couldn't pull back, however. Not if I wanted to stop them, not if I wanted to survive. So I advanced, knocked the closest rifle out of the way with my forearm and slammed the butt of the pistol into the side of the man's head, aiming for his temple. I put almost my full strength behind the hit and his eyes rolled back as he passed out.

I turned to the second man and found Blake had disarmed him and was engaging in hand-to-hand combat. I slid up behind the pair and slammed my foot into the bend of the thug's knee, knocking him off balance and forcing him to his knees on the ground. Blake brought his knee up under the man's jaw and he blacked out as well, landing on his face on the concrete of the sidewalk.

"Not everyone has to die," I said when both cops turned their attention to me. My voice was louder than I intended. The three of us were breathing heavily, bodies flush with adrenaline, but I could see confusion, surprise, and a little anger in the two sets of eyes. "Let them go back to Bane. Let them tell him the commissioner killed the first two single handed, and that they were beat up by a woman and a rookie cop." I took a deep breath, ran the fingers of the hand not holding the gun back through my hair. I was trying to calm down, but I was finding it difficult. "We're not giving up this city without a fight. No reason to let Bane think any different."

"You could have been shot."

I nodded at Gordon and started for the SUV again. No sense in hanging around. "Yeah, I could have been. They could have shot you as well. Blake is the only one wearing armour. Next time I rush some of Bane's thugs, I will be too."

"You plan on making a regular habit of this?" Blake asked as he climbed behind the wheel.

"What else can I do?" I snapped. "I've already told you I'm not sitting by as Bane takes over the city. We didn't find him in time to stop him, so there aren't many options. Not unless the government bombs the hell out of Gotham, in which case, we'll all be too dead to care." I ignored the look Gordon was giving me from the front of the vehicle as I slid into the backseat behind Blake. "Drop me at the corner of Bleaker and Madison."

"What are you going to do there?"

"Figure out what the hell Bane did at the football game."

-

Since it had been locked up for the better part of eight years, the bunker was cold and smelled only of damp concrete. When it had been the base of operations for Batman, it had smelled like working electronics and coffee and sweat and the old recliner I'd fallen asleep in more than once. It had been warm and comfortable despite being made of stone. I'd spent more than my fair share of time in the underground space and when I first stepped off the lift, I stood for a moment and just stared at the vast emptiness lit by the harsh, cold glow of fluorescent bulbs. I stood there and stared and let my emotions war inside.

My anger cooled in the face of all that space, only to be replaced by sorrow, by emptiness inside my chest. The space, quite expectedly, reminded me of Bruce, reminded me that he wasn't here, that he might never be here again. I inhaled a deep breath and closed my eyes, pushed the response away—rage was better. Rage wouldn't allow me moments of introspection that led to tears. Rage would allow me to follow through with my decision to fight Bane tooth and nail.

He was going to isolate the city, send his thugs roaming around, terrorizing people? I would do the same to them.

Gordon and Blake might not understand it, but I was sure they'd join me. Them and whatever was left of the GCPD, the few cops who hadn't gone into the tunnels, who weren't trapped. I'd need the cops. It didn't matter how much I'd trained—I wasn't Bruce, I wasn't Batman, and I couldn't do this alone.

When I felt nothing but angry again, I started for the left-hand wall and the secret compartments where the equipment was hidden away. I pulled my phone out as I moved, happy to see I still had a signal. It might not last long. If Bane was going to turn Gotham into some kind of no man's land, he would do it completely and he would do it soon. I dialed Lucius's cell number and prayed he picked up, prayed the call actually connected.

_"Eleanor?"_

"Lucius, thank God. Where are you? Are you all right?"

_"I'm fine. I'm at Wayne Enterprises."_

"I heard Bane kidnapped the board—"

_"Yes, he removed the reactor core—Eleanor, he had Dr. Pavel with him; they turned it into a bomb."_ Lucius sounded a little panicked. He never sounded panicked.

"Shit. Why hasn't he detonated it yet?" I raised my shoulder, pressing the phone to my ear as I keyed in a sequence to open a panel of the wall in front of me. I hooked my fingers under the edge of the desk and pulled it out, the wheels protesting slightly from lack of use.

_"He's leaving it to deteriorate. It'll explode on its own, but at the football game, he said he gave the detonator to someone, a random citizen."_

"You know as well as I do the chances of that are minimal," I said, huffing slightly as I booted up the bank of computers. I grinned to myself when all the screens lit up. Everything seemed to be working.

_"I don't know. He seems interested in throwing the city into chaos."_ Lucius sighed and I could picture the older man pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. _"Eleanor, they got into Applied Sciences somehow. They're armed with their arsenal, plus whatever I'd stored away for Batman."_

I nearly dropped the phone. "Fuck! Lucius, I'm in the bunker. I'm—"

The line cut out and I cursed again, loud enough to make the work echo slightly. The signal was gone from my phone. I strung together several more colourful expletives as I waited for the computers to finish booting up, and set about wheeling out several more shelves from the compartments in the wall, the shelves holding the gadgets Bruce had utilized as Batman. At least I knew Lucius was all right, though I was still kicking myself for not calling and telling him to get out of Gotham as well.

I passed the next few hours looking for, finding, and analyzing the footage from the football game—thankfully it had been streamed live onto the internet and I was still able to get hold of a copy. It was indeed Dr. Paval lying dead in the football field, not that I'd doubted Lucius's testimony. I also heard Bane's speech about the bomb, about giving the trigger to a random citizen. I was reminded of the Joker's tenure as Gotham's resident psychopath, remembered how he threw the city into panic and chaos, and a shiver ran up my spine, a long-suppressed fear rising to the surface.

But this was going to be worse than the Joker.

I could feel it.

This was going to be so, so much worse, and not just because Bruce wasn't here to fight.

When was I done with the footage, I put the computers to sleep and shoved the desk back into hiding. I thought about turning them off, but I would probably need them again, sooner rather than later.

I set about digging through the collected gear when I was done with the newsfeed, finding the thin bulletproof vest Lucius had procured for me years ago, right around the time Bruce left Batman behind. He'd given it to me, just in case, and I stored it in the bunker. I slipped a bunch of batarangs into a bag, along with whatever else I thought I might need: a grapnel gun and line, a handful of smoke bombs, and a handful of flash-bangs among other equipment I recognized—just in case I couldn't get back to the bunker for a while. I didn't want to lead Bane or his men there, not when they had already manage to get their hands on what was in Applied Sciences. The last things I grabbed before I left were a pair of long-range walkie-talkies from Blake and I to use, and the laptop capable of remote access to the bunker's computers; it wasn't the laptop I remembered, but maybe Bruce had replaced it.

I made sure the lift was locked back in place, the door to the storage container above ground was secure, and all the panels I'd opened were closed before opening one last panel, the one concealing the road leading back up to Gotham—couldn't leave the same way I'd come after all.

I was surprised to find Bruce's motorcycle still sitting there, looking no worse for wear. No rust, no dust even, and a plastic container of gas sitting on the ground beside it. I filled the tank—it was bone dry—and turned the key where it sat in the ignition. It coughed once and then roared to life as fuel filled the system and I knew, I knew Bruce had been down in the bunker sometime before going to meet Bane. I didn't know why and I didn't know exactly when, but I knew the bike wouldn't have been in working order if he hadn't.

I smiled to myself as I slung the bag of goodies over my shoulder and pulled the helmet on, the bizarre surge of joy working its way up around the anger.

I pulled out of the bunker, hitting the button on the bike's handle to close the door behind me and headed back to my apartment. I laughed as I started moving, as the wind rushed around my arms, pulled at my hair where it stuck out beneath the helmet.

Somewhere around halfway home, I realized the vast swings in my emotions probably meant I wasn't handling Bruce's kidnapping and potential murder all that well. I was barreling into the face of the most immediate problem to bypass thinking about it anymore and I was refusing to accept that he might dead. I was letting my rage dictate my thoughts and my actions—jumping between two armed parties earlier and riding a motorcycle home in the pitch black when I hadn't driven one in eight years—and I was likely to get myself killed. I knew that.

Like Bane's chaos, I could see it happening, but I couldn't stop it.

But I was going to fight like hell to keep it from happening.

I contented myself with thinking about how quiet the city was as I raced through the streets, like it was holding its breath, preparing for what was about to happen.


	43. Fighting to Survive

_One month since Bane's occupation of Gotham._

The streets were nearly empty as I made my way back to my apartment from the headquarters Blake and Gordon had established in an old police safe house, and the city was quiet, nearly silent; the only sounds were the rushing of the wind through the buildings, the distant rumble of one of Bane's stolen Tumblers, patrolling the streets, and the soft growl of the motorcycle's beneath me. There wasn't a soul to be seen, not even the homeless or those stumbling home after late nights at the bar and, luckily, none of Bane's thugs. No one spent any time away from home these days, and hardly anyone was out after dark—a side effect of Bane's occupation of the city, of his militant rule over its citizens.

Everyone was scared. Everyone was staying where it was safe.

It started with Bane blowing the doors off of Blackgate Prison, citing the lies that had been told about Harvey Dent—the man who had put the majority of the prisoners in Blackgate—as reason for his actions. The criminals had immediately taken up arms for Bane, giving him an army, a weapon to further terrorize the people of Gotham, as if fearing that an atomic bomb was going to go off at any minute wasn't already enough. Bane then sent his thugs and criminals after Gotham's wealthy and hundreds of families were torn from their homes, their possessions smashed, their clothes thrown into the street, their children scarred for life.

I started my work with the assholes who attacked my building, only three days after Bane's display at the football game. There are children in my building. Lots of children. And I wasn't going to let them be forced out of their homes, into the streets, into whatever sort of hell was brewing out there.

I donned my bulletproof vest and a thick hoodie, braided my hair back from my face, and I'd waited for the thugs in the entrance way of my building. It didn't take them long to show up, but in the short time I waited, several of the adults in my building joined me, arms with baseball bats and golf clubs and kitchen knives. We knew what was happening in the buildings around ours. I didn't tell them to leave it to me, I didn't tell them to return to their apartments to cower; Bruce would have been so disappointed, but I wasn't the loner he was. And together, we beat the living hell out of anyone who came in that building with the intent of robbing, harming, or harassing. I'd chased three men up the stairs and knocked them back. A handful of men left with knife wounds that might kill them if they didn't get medical attention.

Bane and his men knew they wouldn't get at my building without getting hurt.

Many people left to look for somewhere safer to bunker down after that, afraid of Bane mounting some sort of retaliation, but those who stayed turned the building into a fortress, guards always posted, ready to act. The inhabitants protected each other, and anyone who came seeking asylum, and they left me to my business. They didn't question me when I left, armed with a bow and arrow and dressed all in black.

I concentrated my efforts on harassing Bane's men, on stopping them from robbing, beating, or raping the people of Gotham. I didn't go near Bane. He wouldn't hesitate to shoot me in the head and the element of surprise wouldn't work on him—Bruce had proven that in the sewers. I could surprise his troops though. I could cause them a lot of pain.

I also spent a lot of time helping Gordon and Blake with their plans, tracking Bane's three identical trucks—one of which was carrying the bomb—trying to come up with a plan to stop the bomb, to save Gotham. It was exhausting, but we were making progress. Just before I'd started home, we'd completed the map displaying all three routes as they had been for the last thirty days.

The sun was rising when I finally made it back to my apartment, and while it wasn't a new sight, it wasn't a happy one either. It had been a long time since sunrises were a part of my daily routine and my body and mind were protesting the pale grey light as hard as they could, even after seeing them for the better part of a month—I was feeling older than my thirty-eight years. I climbed the stairs quietly, so as not to alarm those who were sleeping, and unlocked the myriad of locks on my door before slipping inside the cool quiet of the loft. As I secured the premises, I leaned against the door, forehead pressed against the metal, eyes closed.

I ached down to my bones. I was tired and angry and sad, just like every day. The surge of pride I'd felt when we'd beat away Bane's men was long gone and had yet to be replaced. It remained the only positive emotion I'd felt since the bombs had gone off.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed myself off the door and walked into my living room, surveying the array of gadgets I'd stockpiled as I slid my bow and quiver over my shoulders, as I unbuckled the police belt laden with Batman's toys. I put everything in its place before falling onto the couch and closing my eyes even as I pulled my boots off and removed the leather jacket. The bulletproof vest came off last and I lay still, hoping sleep would come quickly.

It never did.

That morning however, it was interrupted by the metallic buzzing of my walkie-talkie from where it was still clipped to my belt. "This had better be good Blake," I grumbled after pressing the button down with my thumb. "I was just about to go to sleep."

_"I thought you might like to know one of the men spotted the Joker, or someone who looked a lot like him on the south side of the Narrows."_

My blood ran cold and the weariness evaporated from my system. I'd been afraid of the Joker showing up ever since Bane blew the doors off Blackgate, but so far he'd seemed content to sit and watch and wait. Gotham was already in chaos and everyone's attention was on Bane. What was the Joker going to do to get attention on him? What could he do? The bridges had been blown out, Gotham severed from the mainland United States. There was nothing drastic left. At least, nothing that would leave a large audience to witness it. And the Joker loved an audience.

"What was he doing?" I managed to ask.

_"Still nothing as far as our man could tell. But the last time we saw him, he was at the docks on the south end of the city. He's moving North by the looks of it. Maybe he's looking for Bane."_

"Keep tabs on him if you can. I don't know what he could be planning in this mess, if he's planning anything, but we should try to keep on top of it. Did your guy say anything else?"

_"Just that he looked to be by himself and the purple suit was absent. He had the makeup though."_

"I think it's a good sign he hasn't gathered any henchmen, but yeah, keep an eye on him if you can. I'll head down that way tonight and see if I can get any more information." Blake made a sound like he'd started talking and then cut himself off. I rolled my eyes because I knew he'd been about to tell me to be careful. "Do you and Gordon need my help tonight?"

_"I don't think so. Just let us know if you find out anything more about the Joker. I wasn't in Gotham at the time he was around, but I've heard the stories and that's not something I want to experience first-hand."_

My mind wandered back eight years and my body filled with the terror I'd dealt with; shivers sped up and down my spine at the remembered sound of his laughter. "No, it's not something you want to experience first-hand. You can ask Gordon about it. He was there. He was in the thick of it."

_"So were you."_

"Yeah, but I'm not going to talk about it. Is there anything else you need or can I get some sleep?"

_"I still haven't been able to find where Lucius Fox is staying. He's not at his apartment and none of his neighbours have seen him, though there were only two still in the building. It looks like it was hit pretty hard."_

"I'll find Lucius. Good night, Blake."

_"Good morning, you mean."_

"Whatever."

I dropped the walkie back on the table and rolled onto my side on the couch, still in the jeans and long-sleeved shirt I'd worn out. As was the case every night, memories of Bruce filled my mind. I was asleep within seconds.

-

"You're the one who's been causing trouble for Bane and his men?"

I narrowed my eyes at Selina. It had been a month since she'd led Bruce to Bane, and I was the one who had tracked her down, but I was still seeing red where she was concerned. Quite apart from my being angry with Selina, I was oddly pleased to find word of my exploits had spread. "What of it?" I snapped.

Selina shrugged with one shoulder, her eyebrows lifting in attempted nonchalance. The tightness of her mouth betrayed her though. She seemed to sense the lie wouldn't work on me, because her face fell and she matched my glare with one of her own. "You're making life difficult for a lot of people who would rather go unnoticed in Bane's Gotham."

"Who? Like you?" Her glare deepened, harsh lines striking along her face, but I didn't let her get a word in. I wasn't letting her take over this exchange. I took a step forward and Selina took a step back, probably remembering my spectacular loss of control in the airport. "I don't care how silent you want to be in this place. You're part of the reason Bane was able to get control of Gotham the way he did, and you'll never be anything more to me than the woman who got Bruce Wayne killed."

I felt tears try and rise up at the idea of Bruce being dead, even after a month, but I pushed them back. I still wasn't ready to believe he was actually dead, but the definite declaration sounded so much more dramatic than it would have if I had said she had probably got him killed. I was trying to make a point.

"Who was he to you?" she asked, voice both curious and angry.

I huffed. "I didn't track you down to fight with you Selina, and I sure as shit didn't track you down to get personal. I came looking for you to ask if you've heard anything about the Joker or any plans he might be forming. And don't give me that look. A resourceful criminal like you wouldn't let herself get stuck in a situation like this and not have her ear to the ground."

Selina rolled her eyes and started walking, gesturing for me to follow. "I don't know much about the Joker, but I've heard people talking. He's been spotted a couple times, but he doesn't seem to be doing anything except looking for a way out of Gotham City."

I chewed on the inside of my lip and wondered why the Joker would rather leave—to seek somewhere new to cause mayhem? That was the likeliest option. "Has he tried to contact Bane?"

"Not that I've heard. Why are you so interested in what he's doing?"

"Because Gotham is crumbling under Bane's rule," I said around a sigh. "And I don't want to think about what would happen if Bane and the Joker found a way to work together."

Selina stopped walking and stared at me, eyes wide. She was shocked enough for me to gather the idea had never crossed her mind before, but then, she hadn't been in Gotham when the Joker had plunged the city into chaos either. "Well," she said after several long seconds of silence, "let's hope he just leaves then."

I opened my mouth to reply, but whatever I was going to say was cut off by a high-pitched wail. Selina and I exchanged a brief look before running towards the noise. We rounded a corner and found a girl, probably about nine or ten, and a slightly older boy who was probably her brother, cornered by two, much larger men. They weren't Bane's men, though they might have been criminals from Blackgate, and it looked like they were after the food in the girl's hands.

I didn't bother with any verbal taunts, just inserted myself between the kids and their attackers, Selina following suit. I rammed the heel up my hand into one man's nose, the crack of something breaking loud even above the little girl's sobs. My knee connected with his groin and, using his forward momentum and a hand on the back of his head, I threw him to the ground, the concrete of the sidewalk turning red with blood. I looked to my left and found the other man limping away, a dangerous grin on Selina's face; the man I'd dispatched followed his friend a moment later, one hand holding the hem of his shirt to his face.

The kids looked up at us before they ran too and then it was just Selina and I standing on the sidewalk, staring at each other with grudging respect for each other's fighting skills in the slight smiles on our lips.

"Why do you use a bow?" Selina asked suddenly. "Wouldn't a gun be more effective?"

"If I wanted to kill them, yes, but I don't." I didn't think Selina would understand it if I tried to explain that I was trying to keep Bruce's morality alive in Gotham, so I didn't try. Instead, I gave a simpler answer, though it was no less true. "Leaving them alive but wounded and useless sends a stronger message to Bane than a pile of dead bodies, especially since he considers those bodies expendable."

"I'll let you know if I hear anything about the Joker," she said as she started to walk off down the street, hands in the pockets of her jacket.

I nodded, though she couldn't see me, and headed off in the opposite direction.

-

After an unsuccessful attempt to find where the Joker was hiding out, and a rather uneventful patrol, I headed back to the north end of the city. It was still several hours before dawn and my eyes had yet to grow heavy. I would have felt guilty if I'd gone to bed though, so I swung by the last place on my list of places to look for Lucius: Wayne Enterprises.

I parked a few blocks away and walked, so as not to draw too much attention to myself. There weren't a lot of vehicles running in Gotham, since the gas stations were guarded by Bane's men, the fuel used only to keep the lead-lined trucks and the Tumblers moving. Luckily for me, the motorcycle didn't use much gas and I was getting pretty stealthy at siphoning fuel from parked cars. It had felt wrong for a while, but no one was driving anywhere any time soon by the looks of things, and I always left some in the tank anyway, just in case. It was an odd time to make compromises like that with myself, but it made me feel better.

The lobby of Wayne Enterprises was deserted, though I'd expected as much. I took the stairs down to the cafeteria, since that was the logical place for people to camp out; if I'd learned anything since Gotham had become a no man's land, it was that people always went where the food was. I met no one on the way down, but as I neared the double doors leading into the sitting area, I began to hear voices and I was relieved.

I peered through the little window in one of the doors before entering. Didn't want to alarm anyone. I could make out clusters of people sleeping on the floor, on what looked like piled up couch and chair cushions, and in some cases mattresses. There was barely a visible spot of floor. Near the doorway were a few teenage girls who were awake and chatting—the voices I'd heard. If I hadn't known better, the scene would have looked like one big sleep over. The thought brought a small smile to my lips.

I nudged the door open and went in, hands out before me to show that I wasn't armed. Well, at least not immediately armed. The girls stopped talking immediately and watched me, their shoulders tense; they looked ready to spring into movement at any second, sort of like deer when they realize they're being watched by humans. I crouched down so I was almost on level with them and forced myself to smile.

"Hey," I whispered, "I'm not here to cause any trouble or anything. I'm just wondering if you know if there's a man named Lucius Fox staying in the building."

"Tall, older black guy?" one of the girls asked. I nodded and the girl ran a hand back through her blonde hair. "If it's the same guy, then yeah, he's here. He's staying in the upper levels though, with some other old guys."

I thanked the girls and left the cafeteria, heading back to the stairs and making my way up. Why would Lucius, and what sounded like members of the board of directions, be staying here? I could speculate all I wanted, but I decided it was best just to ask Lucius when I found him.

It took me a long while to climb the stairs to the third floor from the top, where a second, smaller cafeteria was located, and by the time I reached it, I was feeling bone-weary again, and wishing I'd just decided to go home. Lucius probably wouldn't be awake anyway, but it would be enough to know he was safe. I rubbed at my eyes as I walked down the hall towards the cafeteria. The building, which had been familiar place for most of my life, felt odd and dark to me in the early hours of the morning. It didn't feel like the same place. It felt even less like the same place when I entered the cafeteria and found the stern-faced executives—all of the stern-faced executives and their families—sleeping on the floor or on couches they'd obviously pulled into the room for comfort.

I stood for a moment, taking in the bizarre scene before I set about looking for Lucius. I would sit down next to him and wait for him to wake up. Maybe catch a couple hours' sleep while I was at it.

I didn't get the chance.

"Eleanor?"

Relief washed over me at the sound of his voice and, before I was completely aware of what I was doing, I had dropped to my knees and was hugging Lucius Fox, my former boss. "I'm so glad you're okay," I said as I sat back on the floor. Lucius's wife stirred beside him so I dropped my voice as I continued. "I was starting to worry."

"I'm perfectly fine, we all are. Physically, anyway. Safety in numbers. Are you okay?"

I nodded. "Physically."

"What have you been doing?" he asked, noticing the bow and arrows sticking up over my right shoulder. "You haven't taken the place of our shared friend, have you?"

"Not exactly. I'm keeping Bane's men on their toes, but I'm keeping well away from Bane himself."

"Any word from him?"

I sighed, knowing Lucius was talking about Bruce, and shook my head. "Nothing, though it would be near impossible to get word to anyone inside the city anyways, with communications cut off like they are. I'm keeping in contact with Commissioner Gordon and the cops who weren't trapped underground though, and we're working on some plans. I can keep you updated if you want."

Lucius nodded and didn't comment on the rapid change of subject. "Please."

"Do you have any files on the Energy Project in your office still? Those might come in handy."

"If Bane didn't take them, they'll be in the filing cabinet." I made a move to get to my feet, but Lucius grabbed my wrist and pulled me back down. "Eleanor, you look like you're about to fall over. Find a spot and get some sleep. You can get the files in the morning."

As if on cue, I yawned, and then I was nodding. I didn't even move from the spot of floor I'd sat down on. My body gave up on moving and decided it was a good enough place to spend a few hours unconscious. I'd found Lucius and he was safe. Gotham had made it a month under Bane's control. Maybe we could make it long enough to stop the bomb, to stop him, to stop whatever he was planning. I closed my eyes and thought of Bruce, thought of how exhausting my life had become, and thought the lack of sleep might have been why Bruce was always so grumpy. With a smile on my face at the though, I fell asleep.


	44. No Man's Land

 

_Two months since Bane's occupation of Gotham._

"Since when did you start wearing a mask?"

I narrowed my eyes at Blake through the domino mask, exasperated, before pulling it off my face and stuffing it in one of my pockets. I didn't wear the black paint beneath my mask like Bruce had, so my face was bare. "Since someone reminded me that the mask protects the people I care about," I mumbled, conveniently forgetting to mention that "someone" had been Bruce, in a dream. I was seeing him more and more while I slept and I usually awoke covered in sweat or crying, the memories and thoughts hurt so bad. But there was no one I could tell, no one I wanted to talk to about it. "And I've been attacking Bane's men more and more. I just don't want them to start recognizing me or figuring out who I am and attacking you or Gordon or Lucius or anyone in my building or—" I huffed and dropped into the closest empty stool.

Blake's eyes were wide, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Stressful night?"

I exhaled again, louder forcing the breath out of my lungs until it hurt. "You could say that," I said once I'd inhaled. "Did you and Gordon get anywhere with tracking the movements of the bomb? Did those files from Wayne Enterprises help at all?"

The young officer leaned against the long metal table that had been set up, hands wrapped around the edge, knuckles white with his grip.

He and Gordon had found an abandoned shop basement near the beginning of the occupation and decided to use it as headquarters. In only a couple of months, the walls had becomes plastered with photographs and maps and handwritten notes; there was barely any concrete visible through the paper. The whole thing was lit with cold, white light. I thought it sort of looked like a serial killer's den, but I had kept my mouth shut about it.

"The files have helped, though it would have been nice if they'd been complete." He raised a hand to cut of the protest on the tip of my tongue. "I'm not blaming you, Eleanor." Blake held my gaze until I'd settled back into my seat, and only then did he continue. "We've got the new routes mapped out, but who knows how long the routes will stay like this? They changed them after three weeks last time and we were left scrambling." He crossed his arms. "We're trying to stay on top of it, but with such limited manpower, it's not easy."

I nodded. "Any news about the cops stuck underground?"

"They're smelly and uncomfortable but Bane's men give them food and fresh water, and everyone is alive and healthy as they can be. There are a few broken arms, ribs, and ankles, but that's the worst of it. I'm still trying to get in contact with my old partner and to organize something, but with three thousand cops down there… It may take a while."

"And how's Gordon doing?"

Blake gave me a smirk that was more annoyed than anything. He wasn't always fond of my questions. "You know, you would know the answers to all these questions if you checked in more than once a week."

I just leveled my gaze at Blake. He'd tried to start this discussion, this argument, before—and this wouldn't be the last time he tried tonight—but I wasn't rising to the bait. He was like an overbearing sibling or something, always making sure I was okay, I was sure, I wasn't losing my mind. On some level, I appreciated the concern—it was nice to have someone care about you, regardless of how annoying or obtrusive it might be. On some other level—the ever-dwindling rational part of my brain—I thought he was right about me losing my mind.

I was always angry, always tired, always sore. But I kept going, kept fighting, kept pushing. If I was sane, wouldn't I stop?

He backed down with a short sigh. "The Commissioner is fine, although finding safe places to keep him is getting harder. The cops with families don't want to put their families in danger by housing him and I don't blame them."

"Me either—are you still moving him every two weeks?"

"We don't want to push it any longer, just in case Bane's men get wind of something, in case they get close. They'll want to make an example of him. Part of Bane's liberation of Gotham's people from the corrupt government or whatever."

We shared a look and we were both thinking of the speech Bane had read at the beginning of all this, the speech Gordon had planned to give at the Harvey Dent Day celebration this past spring. I'd known all the details revealed in the speech, but Blake hadn't been prepared. No one had been prepared to hear their hero had gone crazy, had turned into a murderer, had tried to kill Gordon's son. No one had been prepared to find out the vigilante they'd been so intent on hating for eight years was the true hero and now he was gone.

I nodded. "It's a good idea. I would offer my apartment but that might put Gordon in more danger, in case Bane's men follow me home or something, but I guess it's an option if you need it."

"We might." Blake sighed again and rubbed at his eyes. He was tired too. I could see it in the set of his shoulders and the lines around his mouth and eyes. His lips were pressed into a thin line and he looked pale. Not to mention it was close to four in the morning. "Any news on the Joker?"

I shook my head. "I spend half my nights trying to track him through the south end of the city, but all the leads go cold. He was sighted down by the docks, but that was a week ago, and he hasn't been seen since. He's never been seen north of the Narrows. I know Bane's men are looking for him as well—I've heard them talking about it—but they're not having any better luck than I am." I yawned and got to my feet, the stool screeching against the concrete floor as I stretched and bumped against it. "Have you heard anything?"

Blake shook his head. "Sorry, no."

"Well, let me know if you do."

I started for the stairs and the alley door beyond, my mind on home, on sleep, on the pain creeping along my shoulders and lower back. I slipped the mask back over my eyes. Blake cleared his throat and I stopped, knowing the noise was meant for me. He was going to push again. I closed my eyes and didn't turn around, waited for him to start speaking.

"The whole point of us working together to fight Bane was for us to actually work together."

I did turn around then, doing my best to keep my face blank and my feet rooted to where I stood. If I started walking towards Blake, I would start yelling. I didn't want to yell at him. "We are working together. You and Gordon and the cops are tracking the bomb and developing a plan to stop him from detonating it, to find that trigger, and I'm keeping Bane and his men distracted so you guys can work with minimal interruption. I've done my best to stop Bane's men and the thugs from Blackgate from terrorizing people. I've brought you information and photos and videos of what Bane and his men are doing." I took a step towards him then. I was tired and my control was slipping. "I am out there so you and Gordon don't have to be, so you guys can work from back here."

"Eleanor—"

"I can't do both, Blake. I can't be here helping you and helping Gotham."

He was silent for a second, the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest now. Maybe his control was slipping too. Maybe we were too tired to have this conversation; I didn't think that was going to stop us.

"You can't take his place," Blake said, his voice quiet and tight.

I glared, my breath coming in short gasps. The pain that accompanied the thought of Bruce, the anger—it was like someone had punched me in the chest. "I am not trying to take his place," I breathed. "I'm just trying to keep the city from falling apart, from giving up hope."

Blake called my name as I turned and left the basement, but I didn't stop.

-

_Three months since Bane's occupation of Gotham._

The Joker was screaming at someone and gesturing wildly, a gun held loosely in one hand. So far he hadn't shot anyone, but it probably wasn't too far off. He looked desperate and I already knew he was crazy—he'd managed to find the makeup he needed somewhere to paint his face in the garish mask that had made him iconic—and bullets had been one of his favoured ways to cause panic. Of course, Selina and I were looking down on the scene from a rooftop across the street, and we couldn't hear anything, so we were likely missing some of the details. Maybe he'd already shot someone. Maybe I was just worried about someone dying while we tried to apprehend the Joker. Images of bloody bullet holes kept flashing through my mind and I was doing my best to keep them at bay.

Almost a week prior, one of my leads on the Joker had finally panned out. I'd found him and trailed him back to the abandoned subway station where he was hiding, and managed to observe him for a while. He was trying to get out of Gotham, aiming for Bludhaven or Metropolis or New York—somewhere he could torment people, somewhere he could create chaos and panic—but Bane and his men were making that difficult; apparently they had almost captured the Joker several times. Now, the police, Selina, and I were going to attempt to do what Bane's men hadn't been able to do as of yet. Just because we already had more than our share of problems in Gotham, that didn't mean we were going to let someone else deal with the Joker.

Selina and I were waiting for Blake to get his men in position around the building, covering all exits, before we attempted to flush the Joker out. We'd been waiting for long enough for the sun to begin to set, and the resulting shadows were a violent black in contrast to the red of the sun.

I was hoping it wasn't a sign of things to come.

Bullet holes and blood again.

"You haven't spoken to them in almost a month?"

I shook my head and looked at Selina, my eyes narrowed through my mask and my mouth screwed up tight. We were mostly hidden in the shadow of a rooftop air conditioner, but I could still make out my unlikely partner. "What?"

"Blake and Gordon? You were keeping in pretty regular contact with them and now you haven't spoken to them in almost a month?"

Oh right. We'd been having a conversation while we watched and waited. "Not with any length, no," I said. "And I've mostly spoken to Gordon. Blake and I can't seem to talk for more than five minutes without it turning into an argument. It's like having a little brother who worries. About everything. But I told you I wasn't talking about Gordon and Blake—"

"In case I rat out their location to Bane? Relax. It's not like you've given me any details I could do anything with anyway." The lithe woman settled back on the spike heels she somehow managed to traverse Gotham's rooftops in, her arms crossed on her knees. She looked at ease, but she would be ready to pounce at a second's notice. "And you really think I'm going to bring Bane down on you? Would I be helping you with the Joker if that was my plan?"

"I think you do whatever you have to in order to survive and you don't want me to put an arrow in you."

"I certainly don't."

One corner of my mouth turned up and I barked a quick laugh.

Somewhere in all the anger and hate over what she'd done to Bruce, I'd found a kindred spirit in Selina. I didn't like her very much, but I didn't have to like her to know she wasn't going to drift through No Man's Land with apathetic grace. Whenever she wasn't posing as a lackey or trophy for Bane, she was out on the streets, stopping the thugs from picking on defenceless Gothamites. She would never admit it outright to me, but I'd seen her at it during my patrols. There was more to her than the self-serving master thief, and I saw it—regardless of how reluctant she was to show it—and, whether I liked it or not, her theft of Mrs. Wayne's pearls had brought the criminal element of Gotham to Bruce's feet and had done something to knock him from his stupor.

Not that I'd ever tell her that.

The walkie-talkie crackled where it sat on the roof between us, Blake's voice fuzzy but still audible.  _"We're in position. Whenever you're ready ladies."_

I checked that the Joker was still in the room before getting to my feet and tucking the binoculars into their pouch at my belt. Selina passed me the walkie as she stood up and I clipped it to my belt as well. "All right," I said, pulling a clunky-looking gadget from my belt. "You first."

"Have you ever used that thing before?"

"Once."

I aimed the gadget down at the building housing the Joker—the brick façade between the two windows belonging to the apartment—and fired. With a sharp hiss of compressed air and a rather violent jerk against my hands, the gadget fired a line, the barbed tip embedding itself in the brick. I hooked the machine around the securest part of the air conditioning unit and Selina attached a clip to the line and zipped down and across the street, entering the apartment spiked heels first, the glass shattering around her. I didn't wait to see if the Joker had been caught by surprise. Just repeated the process, rolling through the broken window and coming up to my feet in a motion that was a little less than smooth.

A bullet zipped by my shoulder and landed in the wall behind me as I came to my feet. My attention snapped to the Joker, who was backing out of the room, gun wavering slightly as he fired at Selina, at the men he'd been yelling at, at me. A scream of pain from one of the men and the sounds of fighting told me Selina was dealing with the other men. I advanced on the Joker, ignoring the fear that built with every step I took. He cackled and pointed the gun at me and the barrel seemed bigger than a moment before.

"I was wondering when Gotham's new freak would find me," he sneered. "You are much less intimidating than the Bat."

I bared my teeth and lunged forward. The Joker turned and ran out the door, down the hall towards the staircase. I pulled my bow over my shoulders and aimed an arrow as I stepped into the hall, the bolt landing solidly in the meatiest part of his lower back just before he started down the stairs. I ran after him, going as fast as I could, taking the stairs three at a time. After I'd gone down about ten floors, the door to the hallway banged closed. I tore into the hall after him, surprised to find how close I was to the deranged clown when I came through the door.

It took me half a second to take everything in and then he was on me.

His gun caught my cheekbone, and I felt the shock, the burn, as the skin split. I gnashed my teeth together, and I landed a punch in his gut with the hand holding my bow. I kept at it. Somewhere between the third and fourth punch, between healed and cracking ribs, he started laughing and my blood went cold, memories of all the terror I'd felt eight years ago flooding back. I hit him harder. His laughter rose in pitch and he lashed out with his gun again, catching my temple, hard. White spots danced across my vision and I stumbled when I tried to step into another punch. He knocked my arm aside and threw me into the wall. I caught sight of the Joker as he trotted unevenly away down the hall, saw the blood leaking from my where my arrow stuck out of his side.

I aimed another arrow through the disorientation and fired. It stuck in the wall beside the door as the Joker started down the other staircase.

I pushed myself after him, shaking my head, trying to centre myself as I moved.

"What happened?"

Selina appeared at my right and I gestured at the door. "He's running. Get him. I'll catch up."

For a brief second I thought she was going to protest, but she nodded once and then took off. I pushed myself upright and took a few deep breaths, the dizziness clearing substantially. I took an experimental step and found it didn't cause any trouble. So naturally, I started running.

In the stairwell, I could hear the Joker laughing, hear the sharp clicks of Selina's boots on the concrete steps, muffled sounds of firsts or feet hitting flesh. I peered over the railing and saw them almost at ground level.

I grabbed the radio off my belt as I sprinted down the steps. "We're coming out in the alley on the south side," I said. "Leave some men around the perimeter but get as many over to the south side as you can." I didn't wait for Blake to respond, just returned the radio to my belt and kept after Selina and the Joker.

The alley outside was narrow, and nearly pitch black in the late evening light. A gunshot rang out just as I stepped onto the asphalt, followed by a guttural scream from Joker, the heavy sounds of hits, of bones and cartilage snapping. The Joker—the lower half of his face now soaked with blood in addition to his side—had his back against a fence, his gun held one handed out in front of him as he sucked in deep breaths, his chest moving up and down visibly. His other arm was hanging limply by his side. I notched an arrow in my bow and sighted on Joker's gun arm.

"Don't move," I said in my most commanding voice.

I found myself facing down a gun for the second time in less than twenty minutes. The Joker's laugh was still bubbling around the edges of his voice, his eyes wide. He looked crazier than I could remember, the calculating edge gone, replaced by more hysteria. "You won't kill me—you're taking a page from the Bat's book, non-lethal justice." The laughter that followed was high-pitched, shrieking, desperate.

I felt my lips pull back over my teeth and I wanted to let the arrow I was holding fly. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him because I was scared of him, because I was mad at him for what he'd done eight years ago, for mentioning Bruce. "I am not letting you escape. I am not letting you wreak havoc all over another city. I'm not letting you do what you did to Gotham somewhere else."

"Oh honey, how are you going to stop me if you won't kill me?"

I felt Selina's eyes boring into the side of my head. I could almost hear her thinking that I should just kill the Joker and get it over with. Maybe I should. Maybe that was the best thing to do. I clenched my jaw against the thoughts, reminded myself that I was trying to uphold Bruce's methods, his ways.

I saw his finger twitch against the trigger and I loosed the arrow without thinking. The bullet hit my gut before my arrow landed in his shoulder and the air rushed from my lungs, pain radiating from the point of contact as I stumbled back. My bulletproof vest absorbed most of the shot, stopped the bullet, but I knew there would be a nasty bruise, that it would hurt for a long time. I forced myself to breathe through it, to draw another arrow back and fire again, hitting the Joker in the hip. He ran at me, bypassing Selina's attack and knocking me to the ground, hands around my neck.

I brought my knee up into his groin, grabbed a handful of his hair, scratched his face, slammed my forehead into his already broken nose—anything to try and get him off me, to knock him unconscious. He was incredibly resilient. He laughed the whole time. He slammed my back against the ground when I tried to roll him. He might not have been stronger than me, but he was heavier and he knew how to use his advantage to keep me down.

Selina seized Joker by the back of his tattered suit jacket and hauled him off.

He stumbled, raised the gun—did he have any bullets left?

She kicked his hand away, stopped the gun from being aimed at her.

He fired and the shot went wild.

The bullet went through my leg, just above my knee.

I screamed.

-

_Three and a half months since Bane's occupation of Gotham._

"I wanted to be the one to take him down."

"He shot you. Twice."

"So?"

"So you don't wear full body armour like he did—"

My head snapped up and I glared at Blake, but my heart wasn't in it. "It was important that I be the one to take him down."

"You did. We wouldn't have been able to apprehend him without you. You were the one who took the time to look for him, who spent the hours tracking him through the city." Blake dropped onto the couch beside me, sighed and settled into the piece of furniture. "By the time I got over there, the Joker was nearly unconscious. He was lying on the ground, dazed, deep gashes scratched in his face, three arrows sticking out of him. Selina Kyle said you beat the crap out of him even as he was trying to kill you." He turned his head to look at me, where I curled in the corner with my injured leg stretched out on the coffee table. "You did take him down. We just handcuffed him and took him away."

I sighed and rubbed my face, ran my fingers back through my hair. The gunshot to my gut snapped a rib and left my right side purple and blue. The bullet that had hit my leg had left me confined to my apartment for two weeks, though Lucius, two cops with paramedic training had done a good job patching me up. There was still one hospital running in Gotham, but the survival rate there was incredibly low and they hadn't wanted to move me anyway.

"Where did you put him?" I asked.

"In the holding cells at the Old Town police station," Gordon said, entering the living room from the kitchen. He passed Blake a cup of coffee and me a cup of tea before settling in the armchair to my right. "Bane's men cleared out once they'd raided the guns and ammunition and anything else that might be useful. We've got a rotating watch on him."

I took a sip from the mug. "Maybe I should have killed him."

"Eleanor—"

I waved the protests off. "I need to get back out there. I'm just getting restless and annoyed with the view. Though, having you here to talk to has made it more bearable," I added with a small smile at Gordon. "But I've got to get back out there." Tears pushed at the back of my eyes. God damn pain medication.

"Did the doctor Lucius brought to see you say how longer you should rest?" Gordon asked.

"Dr. Thompkins said, since it was a through-and-through, since it got attention so fast, and since it's healing well, I should be able to get back out soon, as long as I take it slow. No going head to head with deranged criminals for a while." I tried to laugh, but there wasn't anything in it. "She gave me a new brace—not sure where she managed to find it—and Lucius is looking for something in whatever is left at Applied Science… he knows I have to get back out there or I'm going to go insane."

"Are you sure getting back out there is a good idea?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't ask me that Blake—of course it's not a good idea, but that is not going to stop me. I've told you countless times why I am doing this—"

"You are going to get yourself killed!"

Something inside clenched tight. "Get out of my house."

"What?"

I got to my feet, quickly—too quickly—and my knee screamed, but I pushed through it. I took a step towards Blake. "Get out of my house. I am sick of you doubting my motivations, of doubting the decision I made when this started. Get out of my house!"

Blake got to his feet as well and we stared each other down for a moment before he turned and left, leaving his mug on the coffee table and grabbing his coat from the hook. Gordon followed him and relocked all the locks, secured the apartment and then turned to face me. He had his fatherly face on, an expression I'd seen several times over the past three months when he was dealing with Blake, or me, or some of the younger cops. It was an expression very similar to one my own father had worn when he was trying to be firm by not mean. I looked away from him. I wanted to sit down, to take my weight off my knee, but I didn't want to look weak.

"You're lost."

I looked at Gordon only because it wasn't what I had expected him to say. I nodded and the tears started to fall. "I am. I've been lost since day one of the No Man's Land, just like everyone else, but fighting… this is the only thing I can do, that I feel I can do, to survive, to help. I'm not a doctor, I'm not a cop, I'm not anything. I'm not anything. I've been an assistant my whole life." I laughed bitterly. "I'm an assistant and he hero I was assisting, the hero I was helping vanished. He might be dead and this city is falling apart and the only thing I can do is fight and Blake talks to me like I've lost my mind, like I have a death wish or something. Like he thinks I can't do this."

Gordon handed me the box of Kleenex from the counter. "He knows you can. I know you can. He's right. We wouldn't have been able to catch the Joker without all your work, Eleanor."

I laughed again, the noise harsh. "The only reason we were able to bring the Joker down is because he's weak. He's desperate and he's not the centre of attention. He doesn't have an army of lackeys like he did eight years ago and he's been lying in a cell since then. He is not the same man who terrorized Gotham back then because, if he was, I would have died two weeks ago. I would never have found him unless he wanted me to."

"Eleanor…"

"I'm going to bed. Tomorrow night I'm going out on patrol again. I need my rest."

I turned and walked away from the police commissioner. It didn't hurt too much to walk, but it felt so good when I finally laid down and pulled the warm covers over myself.

I felt lost and broken and unsure. I missed Bruce and I was still scared of the Joker, even though he was weak and was behind bars again. I wanted to go back in time, back to before this had happened, before Bruce had gone out with Selina to track down Bane. Bruce and I had been close again, things had felt normal. Better than that, I wanted to go back three years, to before Bruce became a recluse, before he lost all his drive. I just wanted to go back to before Gotham had turned into a No Man's Land the United States government wouldn't even touched. I wanted to back to before Gotham had turned to hell.


	45. A Force For Good

_Four months since Bane's occupation of Gotham._

Thoughts of Bruce vanished from my mind shortly after being shot. Not vanished all together, but faded to the background. I threw myself into my patrols, into stopping Bane's men from running rampant through Gotham. I slept only three hours or so a night, and whenever I wasn't sleeping, I was out on the rooftops, in the alleyways and shadows. My bullet wound healed well enough, considering it didn't get the proper attention and I was putting enormous strain on the limb. I barely saw Gordon, Blake, Selina—anyone—and I didn't go searching for company. The closest I ever came to my allies in the ragtag police force were the times I checked in on the Joker, to make sure he was still locked up.

I didn't have time, didn't allow myself time, to think of anything except being a thorn in Bane's side.

I knew my attacks were becoming more brutal and I was pushing the limits of my control. I knew there were a few times when I almost lost it completely, almost killed those I was attacking. I was making a name for myself among Bane's men, a name I knew Bane had heard. I was making myself a target. And I didn't care.

The people I saved from being beaten, mugged, raped thanked me. A few had even helped me when I'd been injured while fighting Bane's men, though I refused. Most asked me if I was in league with Batman, if he was coming back to Gotham, if he was going to save us. When that happened, I usually settled for a non-committal "I hope so."

"You hope so? Don't you know? Aren't you working with the Batman?"

I narrowed my eyes at the young woman I'd just saved from the fists and boots of a couple of bored thugs; she'd been trying to fight them herself, but she was untrained and about half the size of the men. The attackers hadn't been men of Bane's, so it had taken no more than a few solid hits, a broken nose, and a handful of broken ribs to send them scampering into the dark. "No, I don't know," I snapped. "I'm waiting to see what happens, just the same as everyone else, kid."

Her eyes moved from my face, to the bow peeking over my shoulder. "Did he train you?"

I nodded. "In part."

"Who is he?"

I couldn't help myself; I laughed. "Nice try, kid. You should get out of here. Get home or wherever before you get yourself in even more trouble," I said, knowing the words were probably wasted. I freed the grapnel from my belt and aimed it at one of the roofs above us. With a soft pop, the claw shot upwards and grabbed hold of something solid. Before I flicked the switch that would draw me up, I turned to face the young woman, her blonde hair silver in the moonlight. "What's your name?" I asked, following some impulse I didn't really understand.

"Stephanie."

I nodded, the bizarre impulse satisfied. "Be careful."

I hit the switch and was whisked upwards by the grapnel, a gadget that still felt strange to use, even after four months. When I hit the roof, I rolled and came up to my knees, retracting the line and putting the grapnel back in place on my belt. I got to my feet and inhaled deeply, the chill in the fall air invigorating. After the brief pause, I took off at a jog across the roof, the brace around my knee tightening in response to the movement, keeping the pain at bay. I leapt over the small gap between one building and the next, my boots sliding on the gravel a bit as I turned and headed towards the street, one of the few that was completely clear of cars or debris. It was one of the streets used by Bane's men, part of the route of one of the trucks that might be carrying the bomb.

I made irregular stops above these streets to watch for a few minutes, to see if I came across anything that might be helpful for Gordon and Blake. I didn't usually see anything, except maybe one of the massive trucks rumbling by, but that night, I saw something different.

I saw the bomb.

Huge and spherical, digital display glowing in the night.

I pulled out the small pair of binoculars and pressed them to my mask, but I was too late to see any more of the bomb before they loaded it into the back of the truck. I saw several faces I recognized—Bane's lieutenants who handled the twisted operations, the daily grind of holding an entire city hostage. I also found a second truck, tucked in one of the wider alleys that had been used for deliveries before Bane's occupation. The back doors were open, indicating something had been taken out…

They were moving the bomb between trucks.

"Shit," I snapped.

I waited for the truck now carrying the bomb to drive off, taking two thirds of the personnel who'd been at the scene with it, and then turned my attention to the alley. There were only two guys with the other truck now, since there was no bomb to protect. Unless there were still guys in the back of the truck, but I didn't care about them. I just needed one. I hooked a line to the air conditioning unit near the edge of the roof and repelled down, landing with a solid thunk on the roof of the cab just as the passenger door slammed shut.

I still hadn't developed Bruce's talent for the theatrical, but I was discovering the advantages of smoke bombs. I tossed one of the larger ones into the cab, waiting a heartbeat for the smoke to release, to fill the small space and then I dropped to the ground on the passenger side, pulled the door open and grabbed a handful of what felt like shirt. The man coughed and sputtered as I hauled him to the ground unceremoniously. I withdrew one of the batarangs Lucius had coated with a serum to knock people unconscious and inserted it into his neck. On the other side of the truck, I repeated the procedure, but instead of knocking him out, I tossed him against the wall and pressed the string of bow over his neck, holding him in place unless he wanted to garrotte himself.

"How long have you been moving the bomb between trucks?"

The man laughed roughly, the noise still choked by smoke inhalation. "I ain't telling you shit."

I pressed the bowstring harder against his neck. "Answer my questions and I won't slit your throat."

"You're just like the bat," he spat, spittle flying into my face. I ignored it and pressed harder. "You won't kill me. You haven't killed anyone yet."

I leaned forward, putting my face as closed to his as I could without touching it. "Maybe I won't kill you, but I can mutilate you, take away the use of your hands or arms and then leave you for Bane to find, and what exactly do you think he's going to do with someone in his organization who can no longer perform their duties, hmm?" Fear crept into the man's eyes. "Answer my question."

He still hesitated. "We started moving the bomb when Bane realized the cops were trying to track it."

"How often do you switch trucks?"

He grunted. I drew the knife from my boot and held it in front of his face. "Every five days."

I used the butt of my knife to knock the driver unconscious and got to my feet, wiping his spit from my face. "Fuck." I took a deep breath and hopped into the truck to start poking around, holding my breath to avoid inhaling any of the residual smoke. I found a map of Gotham with a bunch of markings that were probably meant to dictate the routes and nothing else. I tucked the map into the pocket of my coat and exited the truck, not wishing to linger while the men regained consciousness.

Besides, I had information to deliver to Gordon.

* * *

_Four and a half months since Bane's occupation of Gotham._

Since the incident with the truck, my patrols around the city, and any further attempts to gain information about the routes of the trucks, had been more and more frequently interrupted. The government sending in undercover agents might have had something to do with Bane's increased panic as well, even though he'd killed and hung the agents from cranes for the world to see. They'd been brash and underestimated Bane. It had taken him all of two days to track them down and dispatch of them.

Bane was cracking down on any subversion. Even the barest hint of talk against his so-called rule and there were consequences.

I wasn't trying to move without Bane knowing. I wasn't hiding. Bane wanted me out of the way though, wanted me to stop getting information out of his supposedly loyal men and giving it to the police. He wanted Gotham's substitute vigilante taken out of the picture. He sent men after me specifically and I wasn't entirely sure if they wanted to bring me in alive or dead, but I was thinking it was the more permanent option. Over the course of the past month, my hip and forehead had been grazed by bullets, I'd been stabbed three times and cut more times than I could count, though none of the injures were too serious. None of them would stop me.

I was tired and worn and constantly in pain, but I wouldn't let them get me, and despite all his work, Gordon and Blake had managed to use the information I'd gathered to build themselves a foothold. They were making progress.

Currently I was being pursued through the park at the north end of Gotham, Bane's man having trouble keeping up with me in the close press of the trees. I thought I was about to give them the slip when another one appeared in front of me. I stepped out of the reach of his arms just in time and notched an arrow, letting it fly towards the new man. But it was a quick shot, sloppy, and I missed.

"Bane would like to see you," the first man said, finally catching up. His bald head was shining with sweat.

I drew another arrow back, aimed at the big man's shoulder, right for the joint. "Well I don't particularly want to see him."

"You don't have much of a choice, girly."

I turned the arrow to the second man. "Girly? Really?" I rolled my eyes. "And the way I see it, I do have a choice. I'm choosing not to go see Bane, and you'd need more than two men to make me change my mind."

"How do you know there aren't more than two of us?"

"There are only two of you in trees here. The lot of you are incapable of moving quietly. There might be more of you back out in the parker but at this moment, I am wholly unconcerned with what lays in wait out there."

I loosed the arrow, striking the second man in the shoulder. He yelled and was slowed, but he didn't stop. I switched the grip on my bow and used it like a bat to strike the second man in the side of the head before landing a solid kick to his groin. He dropped to his knees, the wind gone out of him. I attempted to kick him in the face, but the bald man lunged at me from the side, arms going around my middle and driving me to the ground, my bow tumbling from my grasp.

I let my shoulder take the brunt of the fall so I didn't land on my quiver and so I could keep going. He tried to pin me to the ground with his superior weight, but that maneuver had been tried on me too many times. I boxed his ears, stunning him, and then drove the heel of my palm up into his nose, sending his head backwards and diverting his attention from me.

"You bitch!" he screamed through the blood running down his chin.

I rolled to my feet, retrieving my bow as I moved. An arrow went into the bald man's shoulder as well. I closed the distance between us and slammed his head back against the trunk of a nearby tree, and he dropped. Just in time for the other man to get to his feet, having regained his composure.

I slipped the bow back in place over my quiver and fell into a fighting stance, the man moving too close for my arrows to do any damage; he broke the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his shoulder as he advanced. The man hit hard and he knew how to put his weight behind his hits, but so had Bruce and so had my sensei. I was used to fighting those bigger than me. I blocked his punches with my forearms and stayed in close so he couldn't kick me. I used my elbows and knees where I could, jabbed the rigid lines of my fingers into his throat, and used the hard knots of my knuckles to bruise the nerves in his arms. I broke his nose and at least three of his ribs. I could feel the pinching every time I inhaled that said I had some cracked ribs too.

Growing and desperate to fulfil the task he'd been charged with, the man charged at me like we were playing football. I waited until he got close and dropped my elbow into the back of his neck and shoulders, using my downward momentum to flatten him to the ground. I rolled him over before he could gather himself together and placed my knee on his windpipe.

I didn't say anything, just stared at him as I increased the pressure. It would have been so easy to kill him. One less thug in the streets, one less pion for Bane to command. I pushed little harder, his eyes rolled back in his head.

I rose to my feet, lifting my knee from the man's throat. He didn't gasp or cough or try and get up, but he was still breathing.

I turned and moved slow and quiet through the trees, alert for anyone else who might be looking to take my head back to Bane. In the shade of the trees, I gave my head a shake, tried to remember why I'd started fighting in the first place. Tried not to feel so desperate.

I wasn't sure it worked.

* * *

_Four months, twenty-nine days since Bane's occupation of Gotham._

"This bomb is going off soon, and we only have the basic structure of a plan in place."

I looked at Gordon, my arms crossed over my chest. I felt at odds with everyone in the concrete room, and was standing at the end of the table, as far away from everyone as I could get without removing myself from the conversation. "We know the routes of the truck and you've been able to find the bomb every time you've gone out looking for it. All we need is a way to disarm the bomb or get it reattached to the reactor and we're set. Even if we can get the bomb away from Bane, that'll be a step in the right direction." I ran a hand back through my hair, my fingers hitting the hard material of the domino mask. "Lucius was looking for some tech, but they caught him and are holding him at city hall. Bane had men stationed at Applied Sciences."

"Is there anything you have that might help?" Blake asked.

I sighed. "Maybe. I'll see what I've got when we're done here, but I'm not promising anything."

"I know, but some steps forward are better than none." It was Gordon's turn to sigh. He looked haggard, like he was on his last legs, but he kept going, leading the group of remaining policemen with all the surety he could muster. "Three more of our men were captured the last time we went out after the trucks, and today was the fifth day of the cycle. Bane hasn't given the order to change that yet, at least—"

"He probably thinks there isn't enough time for us to do anything, so why bother?" one of the other cops chimed in—I thought his name might be Jones, but I wasn't sure.

Gordon made a small noise that said the young cop might be right. "Regardless of why, tomorrow they change the truck and we need to find the new target. Miranda Tate has agreed to help us tag the truck and, as usual, you'll be in charge of causing as big of distraction as you possibly can?" he asked, looking in my direction.

"Of course."

Gordon nodded and it was clear he felt better about having his next few steps laid out before him. He waved everyone away and I took the opportunity to leave before Blake or anyone else could pull me into a conversation. I just wanted to get home and catch a little sleep, and now I had to stop by the bunker first. The night was shaping up to be a lot longer than I'd intended. In the alleyway, I wheel the motorcycle out from where I'd hidden it, and swung my leg over, pulling my helmet on before I turned the key in the ignition.

As I drove towards the bunker, I wondered at why we hadn't seen more of Miranda Tate around during this No Man's Land. She'd been stuck in Gotham since the beginning, and had originally been camped out at Wayne Enterprises with Lucius and the other members of the board, but she hadn't been locked away with the rest of them in City Hall. Somehow she'd found her way to Gordon. Maybe she'd hid at Wayne Enterprises. Who knew. I didn't talk to anyone much and I might have seen her three times since she'd found her way to the police. I hadn't been overly fond of her before all this happened and that wasn't going to change now that the city had gone to shit. I made a mental nose to bring forth my concerns to Gordon tomorrow and kept driving.

I turned down the appropriate alley and parked the bike, hitting the button near the ignition that would unlock the door leading down to the bunker. I lifted it open since that way was quieter, and then wheeled the motorcycle inside before closing the door and driving down the curving road, the headlight from the bike the only thing lighting my path.

Inside the bunker, the florescent lights flickered on when the wall panel slid open, casting their cold shadows over the empty room. Without preamble, I started hauling shelves and desks out of their hiding places and began looking for something, anything that would help us take out the bomb.

I was looking through the fourth shelf of gadgets when I heard it.

The gears kicking in to lower the floor of the shipping container down.

I notched an arrow, turned and aimed, waiting for the lift to descend. Whoever it was, whoever had followed me here, they wouldn't get far. I was ready.

Or, I thought I was.

As the lift slid further down the track, as the intruder came into view, my breath stopped, my heart stopped. I stopped. The tip of the arrowed lowered as we made eye contact and all of the tension that had been building in response to the perceived threat fell from my shoulders, eased out of my body.

"Bruce," I breathed, taking in the sight of him.

He was thinner than he had been, but still looked strong. He looked whole, didn't move with any trouble. There were more lines in his face, but there was a fire in his eyes again, something I hadn't seen in years. He stepped off the lift and took a few steps towards me, moving almost cautiously. I couldn't imagine what I must look like to him: bruised, cut, broken, battered, ragged, worn, insane—any of those adjectives would be appropriate. I didn't approach him—though I want to, God did I want to go to him—I just stood there, looking, trying to make my mind reconcile the fact that he was actually there, in front of me, with the fear that he'd been killed; a fear, I realized, I'd begun to accept as the truth.

Bruce stopped a few feet away from me, leaving the move up to me. He was being cautious.

"You're alive," I said, relief in my voice and a small smile ghosting across my mouth.

Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but something exploded inside me, some anger I'd been holding in for nearly six months. Anger at him going to confront Bane without waking me, anger at him for getting captured and disappearing for so long, for leaving us to Bane, for leaving me to Bane. It was irrational anger—well, most of it was—but that knowledge couldn't dim the sudden emotion. I switched my bow so I could hold it in one hand as I took a couple steps towards Bruce and then, before any words had left his mouth, I slapped him across the face.


	46. The Return of Gotham's Hero

The sound of the slap faded and a red spot began to form on Bruce's cheek, but he didn't say anything. He didn't even really look surprised, like he'd known what he'd be coming back to.

The thought didn't comfort me as much as it should have.

"How could you go without waking me up?" I snapped. "How could you leave me there when you went to go confront Bane? And then you vanished for nearly six months!" My voice rose as I spoke, until I was yelling. "I thought you were dead, I thought he'd killed you—I had no idea what had happened!"

I wasn't entirely sure everything coming out of my mouth was rational, but I didn't really care. Months of pent up anger at Bruce, anger I hadn't been totally aware of, was coming out and I wasn't going to stop it. It felt good and horrible at the same time.

"You vanished and then Bane turned the reactor into a bomb and holds the city hostage and you just show up? How could you underestimate him like that? Alfred warned you! I warned you! For fuck's sake, Selina warned you! And then you left me to listen to the recording from the suit, left me to listen to him beat the shit out of you! You left me to sit there feeling helpless and useless as I listened to him tear you apart Bruce—HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?"

I ended up standing close to Bruce, and if I hadn't been holding my bow and the arrow I'd almost shot him with, I might have hit him again, slapped him, pushed him, anything—but my fingers were locked tight around the weapon. I was clinging to what had become my reality, to what I knew, fighting the urge to fall back on what had been. There were tears on my cheeks, blurring my vision, but I stared up at Bruce as if they weren't there. He was looking at me with something strange in his eyes, something I couldn't name. But I wanted more of a reaction, I wanted him to yell back at me, to try and interrupt me, to grab me, to do anything, but he just stood there and took it, stood there and looked at me. I sobbed under that unwavering gaze, sobbed and held onto my bow tighter as I tried to hold it back.

He put his hand on the bow between my fists and pulled gently. I didn't want to relinquish it, the symbol of who I'd become when he'd been gone. Bruce tugged a little harder and I let go with a small gasp. He placed the bow and the arrow on the table immediately to my right, within my reach so I could get to it again if I had to, or maybe just close enough to make me more comfortable. I watched him place it gently down, the faint hits of metal on stone louder than they shoulder have been in the silence of the bunker, and then I looked back up at him.

"I thought you were dead," I whispered, balling my hands into fists, hard enough to feel the blunt edge of my nails even through my gloves. "I didn't know what had happened to you… I'd given up." Speaking the realization out loud hurt. Tears fell faster and I felt my shoulders start to shake with the suppressed emotion. "I didn't think you were ever coming back, Bruce…"

He stepped towards me and placed one hand lightly on my cheek, thumb wiping the tears away from where they slid out under the mask. It was a gesture he'd used countless times before, and the familiarity of it warmed me. I covered his hand with my own, slid my fingers between his. He lifted his other hand and gently nudged the mask from my face, setting it on the table with my bow. The air in the bunker felt cold on my face. Bruce brought both his hands back up and ran them back over my hair, traced the line of my neck, my shoulders, my arms. I closed the final space between us and wrapped my arms around him, pressed my face into his shoulder, breathed deep. The tears had slowed and I felt calm and warm as I hadn't in months when he returned the embrace. He was solid and real and there and alive. I was so angry at the same time I was happy and relieved.

"I'm sorry Ellie," he said, lips moving against my hair. "I'm so sorry."

I shook my head, though whether I was denying the apology or something else, I wasn't sure. "Me too."

Bruce ran his hands over my hair again and I lifted my head to look him in the eye. "Don't apologize." He leaned in, nose brushing mine. I pushed myself up on my toes and kissed him, wrapping my arms around his neck instead. "You don't owe me that. You don't owe me anything," he said when we broke for air.

The break only last a moment before I took his mouth with mine again. His arms tightened about my waist, around my quiver, crushing me to him, lifting my feet slightly off the ground as the kiss deepened, became hungrier, more frenzied. His arms felt the same around me, his body thinner but still strong. A small noise escaped my lips and I dug my fingers into the back of his coat, holding on as if I was afraid he would vanish again.

It was Bruce who broke the kiss, gently, and reluctantly if his lingering touch meant anything. He held my gaze for a moment and then I disengaged completely from him. The air in the bunker felt cold again and it shocked me back to reality. Bomb. Bane. Right.

I turned slowly to the table and slid my mask back into place, exhaling slowly when it settled back around my eyes, the gentle adhesive Lucius had devised affixing to my skin with a now-familiar tightening. That simple act changed my mindset, made it easier think about business, despite the urge to ignore it all, just for a little while. I returned the bow and arrow to their places around and in my quiver and then turned to face Bruce, who was watching me with curiosity, admiration, and something else, something I hadn't seen in his gaze in a long time—wonder, like I'd done something he never expected. The last time I'd seen him look at me like that had been when I'd first insisted on helping him, back before the Joker, before everything. At the beginning.

I smiled at him and tapped the hard material of the mask with a gloved finger. "Made a bit of a name for myself, following in your footsteps."

Bruce returned the smile, eyes lingering on mine. "When this is done—"

"I'll tell you everything that happened in your absence," I promised. "And you'll tell me. Right now I'm assuming you need to get suited up."

"I need to find Lucius first. He might know of something that can help us stop the bomb from being detonated while we get it attached to the reactor."

Bruce started moving about the bunker, gathering up the things he'd need, both of us focused now on the business of saving Gotham. I watched him for a few seconds, marveling at how it almost felt like no time had passed, that this was years ago and he was suiting up for just another patrol. I gave my head a quick shake.

"Bane is holding Lucius and the Board of Directors at the stock exchange. He has been since the feds tried to get into the city." I closed my eyes, remembering the sight of the corpses hanging from the cranes on the outskirts of the islands. "I've tried to get in there a few times, but it's heavily guarded and I don't have your aptitude for sneaking around. Selina would be the only one we know who could get in. She might be able to get you in too."

"Why Selina?"

I shrugged. "She seems to have a free pass with Bane and his men, as long as she leaves them alone. I'm assuming it has something to do with leading you right to them," I added tonelessly.

"Is there a way to get in there without her?"

"Not that I've been able to find."

"Then we have to get her help." Bruce set the bag he'd been filling with gadgets and supplies down and found my gaze, something almost mischievous in his eyes. "Have you told her the bomb is going to explode on its own?"

"No—she would have only fought harder to get off the island and I thought she might prove useful somewhere in the future. I would have told her… Well, I was planning on telling her, but I guess we've run out of time. We've only got about thirty-six hours left, don't we?"

Bruce nodded and then, for a moment, we stood in silence and stared at each other, Bruce's face blank as he studied me. "You've changed," he said just as the silence approached unbearable.

"I've had to."

"I know."

We kept our gazes locked a few heartbeats longer and then Bruce came to me, wrapped me in another hug, his fingers on my shoulders tight, a silent apology to go with the ones he'd already spoken. I returned the gesture and let the moment stretch out as long as it could, eyes closed and face pressed to the soft blue fabric of his shirt. I would have liked to have taken off my mask and my gloves, my coat and my armour, but there was work to be done shortly and it felt like if I took them off, I might not put them back on. But then the moment passed and Bruce was moving about the bunker again, preparing, and I watched, running a mental inventory of everything I had on my person.

Bruce paused a little while later, leaning on the table across from me, brow creased in thought. "Selina will have to get me in as Bruce Wayne, not as Batman. Not all Bane's men are going to know I'm Batman and if they see me like that, they'll attack first and ask questions later. If they see me as Bruce Wayne, they'll take me to wherever they're holding the prisoners and Lucius and I can get out from there."

I nodded and walked around the table to stand next to him. "I'll get up on the roofs and keep watch for Bane or any reinforcements; I can keep the suit with me until you need it. Something tells me if he finds out you've escaped from wherever he had you, he won't leave you alive."

"You're right."

I looked him in the eye and took his hand where it sat on the table, squeezed it tightly. "I have to ask—"

"I'm well enough to finish this, Ellie. I have to be." He ran his thumb over the back of my hand, his eyes darkening with the rage he felt towards Bane, with whatever pain he was holding inside from his torment at Bane's hands. "We have to finish this. We have to save the city."

I set my jaw and nodded.

He let go of my hand and walked to the opposite end of the table, reaching underneath the edge to flick the hidden switch. There was an audible grinding noise as the gears propelling the secret compartment kicked into motion and the only hidden compartment I hadn't opened in six months rose from the floor. I walked with Bruce to stand in front of the compartment, both of us staring into the empty cowl of Batman as it came to a stop. We stood and stared at the suit, facing all that had happened in the past and all we had to fight to save. Something changed in Bruce, in the set of his shoulders, the tension riding his body. He became Batman as he stood beside me, but this wasn't the Batman who'd gone to face Bane six months ago. This was Batman fueled by justice and revenge and determination.

Bruce reached forward and pulled the cowl from its hook, holding it in front of his face for another second before he grabbed the thick black duffel bag from the bottom of the compartment and shoved it inside.

* * *

The morning air was colder than expected, especially perched on a rooftop, exposed to the wind. I was uptown, across the street from an apartment building that had been converted to a store house for Bane's ammunition and a barracks for his men. There were several others stationed through the city, mostly in apartment buildings forcibly emptied at the beginning of the occupation. I'd never hit any of them directly before—they were always swarming with giant men and fierce women with guns, more than I could handle on my own—but that was what I'd done today, as a distraction for Gordon and Blake and the team tracking the truck and the bomb.

I watched the column of smoke rise higher into the air, and breathed in the acrid scent of the old building burning. I watched Bane's troops move methodically around the burning building, trying to put out the fire and get those still inside, out. There hadn't been many people inside when I'd set the fire, just enough to keep the others interested in the building and not in finding who'd lit the flames. I wasn't exactly hiding and it wasn't hard to imagine the wrath I'd face if someone noticed me.

The walkie-talkie on my hip buzzed, startling me a bit, and I pulled the device in front of my face, keeping my eyes on the swarming crowd.

"You've got your distraction," I said.

" _We can see the smoke from here,"_ Blake said.  _"What did you set on fire?"_

"A nearly-empty barracks building. It's just a small fire."

Blake huffed, though I couldn't tell if it was in annoyance, shock, or to cover up a laugh.  _"Everyone here is in position and the truck is on its way. Are you headed over?"_

"I'm going to stay here for a bit and make sure no reinforcements respond to distress calls or anything like that, and then it's time for regularly-scheduled patrols until we know what we're going to do to stop the bomb." I wanted to tell Blake that Bruce was back, that Batman was back, but Bruce had asked me not to. He didn't want word of his return getting back to Bane, not until he could control it, anyway. "You know where to find me if you need me."

Blake made a noise of acknowledgement and then there was a brief pause.  _"You sound… different."_

"I'm just anxious to get this over with. Go keep watch, Blake." I returned the walkie-talkie it to my belt, just as the earpiece attached to the throat microphone I was wearing to keep in touch with Bruce crackled softly in my ear. "You find Selina yet?"

" _She was in Old Town, in her old neighbourhood, like you said she'd be."_

I shifted my weight back and forth a bit—crouching on the tarred and feathered roof was not the most comfortable position—and checked the alleyways, the roads leading away from the apartment building. No one was running anywhere, no one was responding to anything except the fire. "She's been sticking pretty close to the area she knows. Has she agreed to help you get to Lucius?"

" _For the Clean Slate program and a way off the island, yes."_

"Are you okay with that? You can't exactly be thrilled to let the woman who nearly got you killed go. Or is this one of those 'bigger fish to fry at this moment' sort of things?" Bruce made one of his small noises that meant I'd hit the nail on the head. I grinned to myself. "Well, I guess we can always bring her in later. How are you going to get her out of Gotham? Better question—how did you get back in?"

" _Very carefully, using my talents for sneaking around."_

I smiled wider. "Very funny. You owe me answers when this is done." I checked the commotion on the ground, found it proceeding as it had, though they were starting to get the fire out. Time to move. "I'll meet you near the stock exchange as soon as Gordon's tagged the truck so I can pick up the suit and then we can get this plan in motion. You ready to become Selina's prisoner?"

Bruce replied, but I didn't hear what he said. The walkie-talkie fizzed to life again and Blake's voice came through, panicked.

He was saying something about the mission going south, about mercenaries appearing, about Gordon and the others being captured by Bane's right-hand man, Barsad.

I cursed loudly and took off over the rooftops, back to where I'd left my motorcycle, forgetting all about the commotion behind me, about the possibility of being noticed. But if anyone saw me, they didn't care.

* * *

"I should have been there. I might have been able to do something, to—"

" _To get yourself captured as well?"_

I huffed and wiggled into a more comfortable position under the weight of the duffle bag containing the Batsuit on my back. I was on another rooftop, downtown, lying on my stomach and staring at the old stock exchange across the street. It, along with city hall, had become Bane's base of operations. There were guards and guns everywhere. The stock exchange was his prison, his court. And now Gordon was inside.

"Just, get them out if you can, okay?"

" _Of course, but Lucius is priority right now."_

I grunted and fell silent, mulling over what I could have done to stop the cops from being taken. Bruce was probably right—I would have gotten myself caught as well. All I had was a bow, smoke bombs, and a short few months experience, against automatic weapons and seasoned mercenaries. I may have grumbled a bit about not being allowed to go into the stock exchange as well, but I knew it was important to have someone outside, despite wanting a chance to show Bruce what I could do. Besides, there was no way I was getting out alive if I let Bane's men capture me. There were a fair few who wanted to get their hands on me, to pay me back for the injuries I'd bestowed. So I settled in to keep watch, ready to alert Bruce if Bane showed up; the masked villain had kept out of the light for the past few days and it was starting to worry me, made me feel like he was waiting for something.

Getting inside the stock exchange proved easy for Catwoman, especially with Bruce Wayne as her prisoner. Finding Lucius turned out to be simple as well, since Bruce was tossed in the same room as him, and Miranda Tate was with the former head of Wayne Enterprises. The cops were nowhere to be seen however, but Miranda informed Bruce that any police officers or other city officials were being kept away from the others for "further processing." The room had extra guards too, making it impossible to get in without Batman's arsenal and delaying their rescue, much to my chagrin. Miranda stayed behind when Lucius and Bruce made for escape under Selina's direction, sacrificing her freedom so Bruce could do what he had to. Besides, she'd been left alone so far. She'd be fine for a little while longer. At least, that was what she told Bruce.

I listened to the whole event over the earpiece, muffled and a little staticy though it was, and at the appropriate time, I left the rooftop and returned to where my motorcycle was parked. Twenty minutes later, I was standing inside Bruce's penthouse, breathing in the scent of dusty furniture, walking slowly through the apartment that had, ten years ago, pretty much been home, and listening to Bruce and Lucius discuss the bomb. I wandered through the rooms for a few minutes, their voices following me in the cavernous spaces. Not for the first time since he'd vanished, I missed Alfred, wished he was there to offer whatever wisdom he had for the situation.

"Bane says he gave the trigger to someone—the triggerman is just going to set the bomb off as soon as we make any move against the bomb," Bruce was saying as I returned to the dining room. "I'm surprised they didn't hit the button when Gordon attempted to tag the truck this morning."

"Maybe they weren't in range?" I suggested.

"Perhaps," Lucius said. "They can't be using radio or cell signals for the trigger. There's too much interference and the cell towers aren't reliable." Lucius took a seat and I leaned against the wall between the nearby windows as we watched Bruce start to remove sections of the Batsuit from the duffle bag where it sat on the dining room table. "Infrared doesn't have the range, so it could only be micro-burst long wave, which we could theoretically block, but I'd need the EMP from the Bat."

Bruce raised his eyebrows, one corner of his mouth rising. In that expression, I saw the fire I'd seen when Bruce had started this all. It brought a smile to my face even before he spoke.

"It's a good thing I remember where I parked it."

Lucius and I spent the afternoon tracking down the Bat and dismantling the EMP canon to get the device that would block the signal between the trigger and the bomb. The plan was to get Gordon out of Bane's clutches before he was forced out onto the ice and give him the device. With all the work he and Blake had done on keeping tabs on the trucks, he would have the best chance to get the thing in place. Bruce had gone off to do some recon, to reacquaint himself with his city, to finalize the plan in his mind. We had to save Gordon, free the cops trapped underground, reattach the bomb to the reactor, and capture Bane, all in twelve hours or so. It was more than Bruce had ever faced, certainly more than I'd ever faced. When the three of us returned to the penthouse, we'd gone over the plan for about the thousandth time.

None of us had spoken much since, and only brief words of parting were shared as Lucius headed to the bunker under the river where the reactor sat dormant and waiting. As time passed, the air grew more and more tense, the gravity of what we were up against settling in. I felt more scared than I had in months. I'd managed to avoid direct confrontation with Bane, but now, that was the goal; as Bruce and I suited up, I did my best not to worry, to think only about what I had to do.

The sun had set and the last light of day was fading from the sky as Bruce and I climbed to the roof of the apartment building, staring out over the dark city. Smoke was still hanging over the air from the building I'd burned, and the evening was filled with shouting and fighting, as was expected. Normally, preparing to head out was a little nerve-wracking, and even after months, took me a few minutes to prepare for, but with Bruce back, in the costume, cape fluttering in the wind beside me, it felt different, even with the lingering feeling of failure from earlier that day. The fear started to fade, turning to adrenaline.

"You ready?" Batman asked beside me, voice low and rough.

"Ready to fight Bane or ready to help Selina get off the island?" I asked, voice cheekier than I felt. I took the glare with a bare chuckle and then nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be, I guess. Meet you at City Hall?"

His face changed behind the mask as he nodded. I flashed a quick grin and started to move away, but in a move I didn't expect, Batman grabbed my wrist and pulled me back. I turned to face him, barely able to see his face in the fading light. I pushed up on my toes and kissed him quickly.

"Be careful," he said quietly, seriously.

I wanted to respond with something sarcastic, but instead I just sad, "You too."


	47. War

"When do you think he had time to do that?"

I wiped the smile off my face and shrugged. The glow of the giant flaming bat symbol painted on the bridge was pervasive, engulfing the darkness around it, ushering in the dawn. It was symbolic and beautiful and made me want to laugh, though I didn't. "This afternoon probably, while he was out doing recon, but I stopped asking for details years ago. Theatrics make a point, and more often than not, scare the shit out of the bad guys. That," I said, tapping the window glass with one knuckle, "is a big fuck you to Bane and a signal telling the city to prepare."

"Prepare for what exactly?"

"Battle," I said. "War."

Selina looked at me for a moment, a gaze that I could feel boring into the side of my head. I turned my head to meet her eyes, keeping my face blank. She looked scared, though she was trying to hide it. I couldn't blame her. I was terrified. It was another moment before she spoke.

"Tell me you two have come up with some crazy plan that's going to save the city and take Bane out of the picture for good. Tell me this isn't going to turn into mass murder or suicide."

I frowned. I wanted to ask her why she cared, but I knew better. Selina was a selfish person, sure, but that wasn't all she was. She'd protected the people in her Old Town neighbourhood since the beginning of the No Man's Land, and she'd helped me and what remained of the GCPD bring down the Joker. She may have been a thief, but she wasn't a killer, and Bane holding the city hostage, the potential for thousands of deaths… it made her about as angry and as scared as it made me. Bruce had seen the good in her before Bane had taken over and, as much as I disliked her and her methods, I had seen it in every interaction I'd had with her since, excepting the time I threw her against the wall in the airport, of course.

"We have a plan," I assured her in a quiet voice, my mind flashing on the details of said plan. Plans, actually, but no one else was supposed to know about Plan B. "Get the bomb back to the reactor and attach it. Problem solved."

"Something tells me it's not going to be that easy."

I rolled my eyes, but let the smile tug at the corners of my mouth. "It never is. Now get ready. We should get moving soon."

"What the hurry?"

I raised an eyebrow, my mask shifting with the motion, and ran a hand back over my hair, pushing the stray dark brown strands back into place. "Aside from the bomb going off soon?" Selina gave me an indignant look, still mad at me for not telling her earlier, and I let the smile take over then. "You'll want to be gone before it all starts, and I'm not escaping with you, Selina. I'm staying to fight."

"And you want to get in on the action as soon as possible?"

The smile hovering on my lips grew. "Something like that."

She narrowed her dark eyes slightly before she turned back to her apartment, probably trying to figure out what exactly was going on in my head, what exactly was keeping me in Gotham when I would have ample opportunity to leave, to get somewhere safe. I sighed and turned my gaze back out towards the giant symbol marking Batman's return to Gotham.

I remained by the window as Selina got ready, donning her catsuit and the combination mask and goggles that looked like cat ears when they were raised—as much the symbol of her as the cape and cowl had become of Bruce. She secured the few things she wanted to take with her and then we were out the door, heading down to the street in front of her building where I'd parked the motorcycle. I climbed on and started the bike as Selina climbed up behind me. She slid her arms loosely—and somewhat awkwardly, thanks to my bow and quiver—around my middle and I headed for the alley where the Batpod was secreted away. It didn't take very long to get there, what with the streets practically deserted, but by the time I nudged the motorcycle's kickstand into place, adrenaline and anticipation were vibrating through my body and I was fighting the urge to drive straight to City Hall, to leave Selina to her own devices.

"How many hidey-holes does he have in this city?" she asked as I opened the small garage-like space housing the bizarre vehicle.

I shrugged and climbed into position on the Batpod, memories flooding my mind. "A lot. He's big on always being prepared for anything."

"I didn't realize he was such a boy scout."

I laughed, but it came out more like a snort, the noise drowned out by the roar of the Batpod as I brought it to life. I did a quick mental run-through of how to drive the thing, something I'd never actually done, but I had Bruce's instructions memorized. This could get interesting. I put the bike in gear and pulled my feet up and back into position, taking up the forward posture the Batpod demanded of its rider. Thankfully, the thing proved as easy to drive as Bruce said it would—it was actually a lot smoother and more responsive than I'd ever thought it would be after watching Batman whip around on it.

I headed off in the direction of the Midtown tunnel, Selina following behind and slightly to my right on the motorcycle. Again, travel time was minimal and I wondered if I'd ever get used to busy streets once this was all over. If I had a chance. The debris-choked tunnel loomed up in the predawn light, cars and buses and dumpsters and all manner of other city detritus smashed together and cutting off escape.

Selina moved off, already aware of the next step in the plan. I lined up the Batpod's cannons with the bottom centre of the pile of twisted metal and fired both of them, wishing I had a way to cover my ears from the resulting explosion.

"Well," I said to no one in particular as the grinding of the collapsing barricade faded, "that was certainly effective." I turned the Batpod around and stopped parallel to Selina. "Good luck with the new life."

I almost drove off then, like I'd been planning, but something on her face kept me there, something in her eyes. Conflict. I waited to see what would happen. She looked at me, then over her shoulder at the city, where sounds of fighting and gunshots were arising with the sun, where the battle was beginning, the battle for Gotham, for her people and their lives. She tensed when someone screamed, shrill and long. When she met my eyes again, I saw determination and disbelief, probably at the words that came out of her mouth.

"Where do you need me?"

I managed to keep the smile off my face; Bruce had been right about her. "Spread the word to civilians about the tunnel being open and find Blake. He was taking people over the bridge, or trying to. But spread the word. Get as many people out of here as you can, just in case." I didn't finish that thought, but I didn't need to. The threat of annihilation by nuclear bomb was already prevalent enough without me speaking the words aloud. "Or there's always the fight at City Hall. Another skilled pair of hands is always welcome."

"Right."

Selina gave me a tight-lipped grin and then sped off towards the nearest residential building that still had residents, and I turned toward City Hall, the pounding of my heart in my ears almost too loud to hear the city around me.

* * *

The sun was fully up by the time I reached City Hall. I might have arrived sooner, had the fighting not spilled over into the surrounding streets and seriously delayed my progress. It seemed regular citizens had taken up the fight as well, using anything even remotely weapon-like and tackling the first advisory they could find. Thankfully, most made way for the obnoxious roar of the Batpod. When I finally had to ditch the bike, I was only fifty feet or so from City Hall, though those fifty feet were packed tightly with fists and knees and gunshots and screams. I stood on the edge of the fray and swallowed hard, my eyes already scanning for Batman.

Somewhere out there, Gordon and his team were tracking the truck carrying the bomb, armed with the EMP device from the Bat, ready to disrupt the communication between bomb and trigger, to give us as much time as possible. Blake and Selina were ushering as many people to freedom as they could. The freed members of the GCPD were arrayed before me, fighting to protect their city, to help Batman, the man they'd very recently been hell-bent on stopping, possibly for good. Batman was somewhere in the brawl, leading the charge. It was weird to picture the black armour in the light of morning, but his presence—and the giant bat symbol, still burning somewhere in the distance—had bolstered the resistance, the fighting spirit.

My first opponent came at me from the front, barreling out of the crowd and screaming his intention before he was within striking range. I blocked his punch easily and pulled my attention to the immediate threat, following up the block with a jab to the throat. The man, strong but unexperienced with anything outside of a weight room, coughed and stumbled backwards, skewing his balance and allowing me to kick his leg out from under him—knees make a really nasty crunching noise when hit just right—and move on, pressing into the crowd. The next attacker was a woman, smaller than me, but eyes alight with fierce energy, and fists hard as rocks. I took a hit to the shoulder, but that was the only strike she got in. I drew my bow over my shoulder as I moved out of the way of another punch, notched an arrow into place and fired it into her calf, taking advantage of the resulting shock to grab her hair and shove her to the ground, knocking her out with a solid hit.

Someone grabbed me under the arms and hauled me off the woman. I tried to hit whoever had me, but kicking backwards had never been my strongest or most accurate attack. Instead, I twisted as hard as I could, and brought my elbow back into the arm holding me. The man lost his grip and I turned away. It was one of Bane's men, evident by his military-esque clothing and the surety with which he moved. I dropped into a fighting stance, bow still clutched in one hand, and drove a kick towards his midsection. He caught my foot and pulled me forward, trying to knock me off balance. I kept my footing and used the added momentum to drive my other knee into his groin instead. He doubled over slightly with a grunt, and I didn't give him time to recover. I slipped my bow over his head and stepped behind him, pulling the bow back, the string biting into his flesh.

"I've taken down too many of you like this for this move to keep working," I told him as his face started to darken, his hands attempting to reach behind his massive torso and grab me. "Hey now." I kicked the back of his knee hard, and stepped onto his calf, driving his shin into the pavement and using as much force as I could to grind it into place.

He landed an elbow against my hip as he went down, pain spreading hot and cold down my leg and up my side. I replaced the bow with my arm and held on as tightly as I could, his face going red and then purple, his eyes rolling back in his head. He'd just gone under when a kick connected with my leg.

I dropped the mercenary and turned to face my new opponent, finding two grinning faces instead of one—why were all of Bane's men psychotic? I fired another quick arrow into the shoulder of the guy on my right—who was wearing a bright yellow hat of all things—stepped forward and went down on one knee to duck under a punch. Another arrow went into the knee of the other guy and, as I pushed myself back to standing, my fist went into his solar plexis, the hit pushing the air from his lungs. I spun and landed a roundhouse kick in the ribs of Yellow Hat, moving in close as soon as my foot hit the ground and firing off a quick set of punches to his gut. His partner's fists hit my kidneys, solid and hard, my back going rigid as I cried out.

"Not so tough after all, are you?" Yellow Hat hissed in my face.

I clenched my jaw and bared my teeth, pushing the pain to the back of my mind. I drove my elbow into his face, breaking his nose and sending him reeling backwards, and then I turned and launched myself at my other attacker, tackling him to the ground. He tried to sit up, using his superior mass and upper-body strength to move me, but I clamped my legs against his ribs as I straddled his chest and punched him in the face, my bow dropped on the ground by his head, an inch from my hand and forgotten for the moment.

Yellow Hat wrapped his hand around my braid and hauled me up, pain lancing through my scalp. A scream broke through my lips, but I hit him with whatever would reach as I tried to shake his grip—maybe I'd cut my hair after this.

Then, his hand was gone.

I went for my bow before he could grab me again and turned, arrow in place, to find Foley with his gun pointed at the man on the ground and Yellow Hat crumpled at his feet, dead or knocked out. "He's unconscious," I said warily, gesturing behind me. Foley's eyes were wide and full of panic. He'd seen shit as a cop, but nothing like the all-out battle going on around us.

Foley's throat moved as he swallowed and then he nodded and turned back to the fray, disappearing into the crowd.

I used the moment of respite to give my head a shake and remind myself the injuries would heal, as much as they hurt right then. I needed to find Batman. We needed to try and get the bomb back to the reactor, attach the core and stop it from blowing up. That was Plan A. Steeling myself for whatever attacks might come, I pushed back into the crowd, keeping my eyes peeled for the cape and cowl.

* * *

I found Batman what felt like hours later, but was probably only minutes. One of my eyes was swelling shut and my left arm was tingling pretty badly. There was assorted other injuries I'd worry about later, but right then, I was focused on getting up the steps to Batman.

Who was fighting Bane.

"Shit," I muttered to no one in particular. I was remembering the recording from the night Bruce had vanished.

I dodged around a group of cops and mercenaries and started up the steps of City Hall, my eyes glued the brawl in front of me. And that's what it was—a brawl. There was none of the theatricality or finesse Batman might have employed normally. There was none of the deception or words or distractions. Just punch after punch aimed at Bane's mask, Batman's hits stronger than I'd ever seen. He was fighting like a man possessed with a need for revenge, a need to prove himself. Bane attempted to attack Batman as well, but his frantic hits missed, knocking chunks of concrete and plaster from the columns lining the front entrance to City Hall. He attacked again and Batman blocked the hits, but I could see his arms and upper body vibrating with the impact.

There was a small voice in the back of my head telling me not to do what I was already moving into position for. I raised my bow and drew an arrow back, aiming for Bane's left arm, the one facing me. It sunk into the meat of his bicep and he howled, but he kept up his attack on Batman. I loosed another arrow, and another, both hitting their marks in his forearm and shoulder. Blood ran red down his skin as he continued to block and punch, but his left arm was wavering, his hits weaker and missing more frequently, giving Batman a wider window. I expected to have to deal with more of Bane's thugs, but none of them seemed too keen on getting too close to the masked figures; the sounds of their brawl could be heard over almost everything else going on.

I should have known there was one mercenary who would brave breaking the assumed barrier—Barsad, Bane's right-hand man. I'd only come face-to-face with him once in the six months since Bane had taken control of Gotham, right at the beginning of the occupation when the criminals released from Blackgate and Bane's thugs had ben rousting the well-off from their homes and destroying all the symbols of the weath. I hadn't been fighting long, but I managed to take out several of the offenders before I faced too much resistance; no one had been expecting someone to fight back the way I was. I got knocked senseless by a big son of a bitch though, who then brought me before Barsad. Barsad beat me bloody in front of the residents of that building as a warning. He'd intended on killing me to drive the message home. I only managed to escape because I had one smoke bomb left and there was a nearby window for me to roll out of.

He came up behind me on the steps of City Hall and wrapped his arms around my middle, pinning my arms to my sides and taking my bow out of commission. I threw my head back, intending to hit and break hit nose, but he was expecting the attack and moved his head out of the way.

"I guess my lesson didn't stick," he said, mouth repulsively close to my ear.

"Guess not. Unluckily for you, Batman's lessons did."

As much as I knew it was going to hurt my abused back, I took my weight off my feet suddenly, causing Barsad to bend forward to try and keep from falling. His hold on me loosened enough for me to break free and turn to face him. I would have attempted to attack him then, but Bruce, not Batman, cried out somewhere behind me and I turned, forgetting Barsad, forgetting everything else. Neither Batman nor Bruce were known for acknowledging their pain, and to hear Bruce's voice in the middle of this, rather than the deeper, more menacing tone of Batman… It was enough to distract me from Barsad.

Just inside the doors of City Hall, Bane, Batman, and someone else, a woman crouched in front of a marble pedestal in the entrance hall. No, the woman and Bane crouched. Batman—Bruce—was lying propped against the pedestal and even from outside, I could see pain on his face and blood on his armour.

I took one step towards them before Barsad grabbed the back of my head and slammed me, face first, into the wall.

* * *

When I came too, I was lying on my side on the marble floor of the entrance hall, my wrists and ankles bound, and a headache raging behind my eyes. I could taste blood on my tongue and if my right eye being stuck together was any indication, there was blood on my forehead as well, probably from where it had made contact with the concrete façade of the building. As the room came into focus, I saw the woman leaving with Barsad—was that Miranda Tate? What the hell? And did she have a knife in her hand?—and Bane pointing a shotgun at Batman's face.

I meant to yell, but the noise that came out was strangled and unintelligible. It got Bane's attention anyway, which was what my intention had been. Right? I wasn't exactly thinking things through. I was more concerned with getting the barrel of the gun out of Bruce's face.

"Looks like your partner is awake," Bane said as he crossed the hall. "Just in time." He seized the front of my jacket and hauled me to my feet, putting his masked face close to mine. I could see tears in his eyes and on his cheeks, hear a slight hitch in his breathing—what had I missed? "If I had known you left someone like her in your place, I would have hunted her down and imprisoned her as well. She has been a thorn in my side these past six months, but nothing more. For her actions, and for yours, you can watch her die first." He was still looking at me as he spoke, but the words were clearly for Batman. "You've failed everyone in this city, Mr. Wayne, but somehow, I think her death will hurt more than the twelve million others about to come."

I couldn't very well mount an attack while hanging six inches off the ground with my limbs bound, so I settled for glaring at Bane. I'd been avoiding getting too close to him for six months. I knew what he was capable of and I knew I didn't stand a chance against him. He terrified me, but hanging there, I wasn't scared. I was just angry.

He answered my glare with a menacing chuckle and then tossed me to the ground beside Bruce, my back hitting the pedestal first, followed closely by my head. Stars danced across my vision for a brief second. Bane pointed the shotgun at me. I renewed my glare.

He squeezed down on the trigger.

And then he flew across the room.

Okay, "flew" might be a bit of an exaggeration, but one second he was standing in front of me and the next, he was lying on his stomach about five feet away, a pool of blood forming beneath his head from where it cracked against the marble.

"You know, for a pair of vigilantes who insist on not killing, you sure arm yourselves with some pretty big guns," Selina said. She raised her goggles and dismounted from the Batpod, giving a nod of approval to the still-smoking cannon.

She said something else as she helped untie Batman, but I didn't hear it. My eyes were fixed on Bane, watching the slow and irregular rise and fall of his back. Somehow he was still alive. Maybe not for long, but right that second, he was still holding on. Maybe the body armour he'd been wearing had been stronger than it looked. Maybe the cannon shot had just grazed him and it was the impact of his head on the floor that knocked him out. Maybe Selina should have used both cannons instead of just one. I didn't plan on sticking around to ask him, and I really didn't think he was going to be giving any explanations anytime soon. I pulled my attention away from Bane only when I was free t move my hands and feet.

"Are you good to drive the Batpod?" Batman asked as he helped me to stand.

I nodded and tried to smile up at him. I don't think it worked; I didn't think myself capable of mustering any positive expression right then and wasn't sure why I tried. Habit, maybe. "The head wound isn't as bad as it looks, honest."

"Good. We need to drive Miranda's convoy towards the reactor. Lucius is waiting there to put the core back in place." He turned to Selina. "Notify a GCPD officer that Bane is in here and incapacitated, and then find Blake and help him get people off the island."

"I guess saving more lives is an all right agenda for the end of Gotham City as we know it," she said. As she headed back out into the crowd, she added something that sounded like, "it's been nice knowing you two," but I couldn't be sure.

I gave my head a small shake and climbed into position on the Batpod, meeting Bruce's eyes through the mask of Batman. Several things came to mind, but I stuck with the ones relevant to the current crisis. "Are you okay?" I asked, gesturing to the blood on Batman's side. "And did you say 'Miranda's convoy?'"

"I'm fine and yes, I did. I'll fill you in later."

"If there is a later."

"Ellie—"

I started to turn the Batpod around in the relatively small space of the entrance hall. "I'm going. Meet you on the road. And this had better work. I'm not fond of Plan B."

I didn't give Batman a chance to respond. With the Batpod facing the doors, I hit the ignition and tore down the steps, swinging out onto the road after the convoy. With the amount of people, bodies, and debris clogging the streets, they hadn't gotten far, but they did have a head start, and once they hit clear roads, they'd put as much distance between them and us and possible. I pushed the Batpod faster, the rush of wind buffeting painfully against my face, but I just narrowed my eyes and prayed for this to work. A rush of confidence surged through me as the sound of the Bat's engines filled the sky above me, but it faded fast as my mind turned back to what Bruce and I would have to do if we couldn't get the bomb put back in place.

I really wasn't keen on the idea of strapping the bomb to the Bat and flying out over open water, hoping against hope that everything was timed correctly and we wouldn't blow ourselves to bits.


	48. Plan B

The chase that followed the escape from City Hall was a mess of explosions and flying debris and Batman yelling directions through the earpiece that I could barely hear over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. More than once I was pelted with little bits of stone, or narrowly missed being hit by a rocket or a chunk of the vehicles in front of me as the Bat chipped away at them, and twice I almost spun myself right off of the Batpod. It was chaotic and scary, and hard to keep everything straight, especially since I was having trouble shaking the pressure of getting to our goal on time; there was no way we had more than a dozen minutes left. A small voice in the back of my head kept telling me we weren't going to make it in time.

An even smaller voice was telling me we weren't supposed to make it. That Plan B was endgame.

I was alarmed at how ready I was to believe that, given how much I really didn't want to put Plan B into action; too much could go wrong and there was so, so much riding on our success with either plan. It was so much pressure.

Bruce had come up with the details of Plan B somewhere between leaving Bane's prison and arriving back in Gotham, but I knew he'd been thinking about it far longer than that. Maybe not in the exact context of Gotham being in danger of destruction by a nuclear bomb, but Plan B was his way out—his way out of being Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, and his way out of being Batman, an entity he'd never intended on embodying forever, or for very long—and I knew he'd been looking for that for a long, long time. I couldn't say I blamed him for wanting a way out, or that I didn't understand his motivations, but I didn't agree with it.

Regardless of my stance on the matter, Bruce had informed me of Plan B after returning to the bunker from his reconnaissance run the previous afternoon, and I had to admit, though I was scared, he'd thought the thing through as well as he could and far, far better than I would have.

Didn't make me any less terrified though.

* * *

_Eight hours earlier._

"What do you mean you fixed the autopilot function?  _When_ could you have possibly done that? And why haven't you told Lucius? Why didn't you tell me? Just how much did you actually get done before you were imprisoned? And when, for that matter, did you fill the motorcycle up with gas? How did you know I would use it?"

Bruce kept his level gaze on me as he waited for me to centre myself. These runs of questions had been coming pretty constantly since we'd both wound up back at the bunker. Bruce had seen all he wanted to of what Gotham had become, and he'd convinced me to come back and get an hour or so of rest before we went after Bane; it was oddly funny that he was the one convincing me to get some rest. Oh, how the tables had turned. As I took a breath and calmed down, he dropped onto one of the cots we'd pulled out of storage and stretched out on his back.

"I didn't know you would use the motorcycle, but I felt it would be a good idea to keep it filled up and in working order just in case of an emergency. It was back there for some time before Bane blew the city to hell. As for the autopilot, I fixed it shortly after I had the Bat in my possession, and I didn't tell Lucius, or anyone, in case it didn't actually work. I didn't have time to test it," he said, voice level as if his answer should have been obvious. Maybe it should have been. Maybe it would have been under more normal circumstances.

"Oh, like you ever test anything." I huffed. I crossed my arms and paced a bit, trying to work off some of the excess energy so I could actually get some sleep. "So what are we going to do with this fixed autopilot function? Strap the bomb to the Bat and set the plane to fly out over the ocean?"

"Something like that."

The tone of Bruce's voice brought me up short. I turned and found him still lying on his back, though he was watching me closely, face carefully blank. "No one else knows the autopilot works, do they?" I asked, voice thinner than I'd expected. You'd think I was shocked or something.

"No."

"So that's it—Plan B is your ticket out," I mumbled as I sunk onto the other cot, my back to Bruce.

During Batman's hiatus, and even before that, when Rachel had still been in the picture, Bruce had talked about finding a way out, about having a normal life, and I'd heard countless times that he'd never intended to be Batman forever, but I hadn't actually thought he'd stop. Not for good. I knew it made sense—the human body couldn't keep up with the torture of being Batman forever—but it just didn't seem right. Bruce was Batman, and Batman was Bruce.

No sense in arguing about it though. It was clear Bruce had made up his mind.

"I would have thought you'd at least leave someone to take your place before you pretended to blow yourself up," I said. "Batman as an eternal symbol of Gotham's refusal to be bullied by criminals or whatever."

Bruce's hand appeared on my back, a warm and comforting weight; we'd set up the cots as close together as we could, since they really weren't made to hold two people. "Blake," was all he said.

I huffed again, this time in exasperation, and lay down on my side, facing Bruce. He'd rolled to face me as well, and the hand that had been on my back moved to my side, moving down to my hip and then back up, over my shoulder, his fingers sliding through my hair. I closed my eyes with the contact. "Do you pride yourself on your ability to come up with covert plants? On never forgetting a detail?" I asked quietly.

I heard a noise that might have been a chuckle and opened one eye. "Yes," he said, straight-faced. I opened both eyes so I could roll them and Bruce gave me a small smile. He dropped his hand and took hold of one of mine, our fingers entwining without a second thought.

Something had changed in Bruce in the six months he'd been gone. Physical contact had never been awkward between us, not really, but it had never been commonplace. Even after we were together, it wasn't common, and most of the time, I initiated it. I didn't mind. But the Bruce who had returned from Bane's prison, the Bruce who had come so close to death, he was more open, and physical contact felt easier. Everything felt easier; you know, besides trying to stop the crazy masked man attempting to blow our city into oblivion. I wasn't sure that anyone else would notice it, but that didn't matter. I squeezed his hand and shifted a little closer on the cot, wishing I could curl up to his chest and seriously considering testing the limits of space on one cot.

"So what comes after strapping the bomb to the Bat and flying off into the sunset?" I asked instead.

Bruce gave a small shrug with his shoulder that wasn't pressed to the cot. "We disappear, Batman and the masked woman, believed to have died in the explosion. If Blake takes up the mantle, Batman will reappear, adding to the myths surrounding him. Maybe someone will take up your mask, as well." He gave my hand a small squeeze and his mouth twitched upwards in another smile. I briefly wondered if anyone would ever want to take my place. As far as I knew, I didn't have a persona like Batman. There was no name or costume or symbol associated with me. It would have been… nice, in a very odd way, if someone had wanted to take my place. "You and I fly somewhere far away," Bruce continued. "Bruce Wayne will be believed dead in the conflict, but in a few weeks, you and I will surface in France or Italy, totally oblivious to what's happened here and to our supposed deaths. There will be too much chaos and confusion as they try to figure out who was killed or who escaped, or what, and we'll be able to slip away."

I found myself smiling in spite of everything Bruce was talking about, my mind running wild with the possibilities of a life after this mess. "What will you and I be doing in Italy?"

"Whatever we want," Bruce replied in a tone that thrilled through me. Or maybe it was the look in his dark eyes.

For a moment, I shared that look and I let my mind run free, let myself be happy knowing Bruce saw something for us in the future. Was it too late to have the life we'd talked about years ago? Was it too late to find something peaceful? I hoped not. But as that moment passed, I let the doubts and questions in. We weren't there yet. There was still so much to be done.

"What about my parents? What if the autopilot doesn't work? What happens if we blow up? What if we're caught or spotted before we can get out of the city? What if—"

Bruce squeezed my hand again, harder this time, enough to draw me out of my head and cut off the stream of questions. "You can tell your parents whatever you want, but not until we're clear of the city. I don't know about the rest, Ellie; we'll think on our feet, like always. It's a risk, a huge risk, but I've planned it out the best I could, and if we can't get the core attached to the reactor in time, we need another plan. We need a Plan B."

"We couldn't have found a more reliable Plan B?"

"We don't have a lot of options."

"I know."

Bruce was silent for a few heartbeats before he said, "You don't have to risk your life for the city anymore, Ellie. I'm not going to ask you to climb into that plane with me and leave your life to chance. You could meet up with me after." His tone told me he wasn't suggesting I wait to keep me out of the way, or because he didn't think I could handle myself, not like before. It was out of legitimate concern.

And, because of that, I seriously considered the offer.

A younger me, a me who hadn't been through the No Man's Land, would have jumped down Bruce's throat for suggesting an easier path, for suggesting a place somewhere other than at his side, but I'd been through so much, most of which I hadn't been trained or prepared for. I'd spent the last six months being terrified, running on adrenaline, barely sleeping. I'd spent the last six months on what was nearly the hardest path I could have chosen for myself, and the offer of a break, however small, was tempting. But there was no way I could stand on the ground and watch the bomb explode, knowing Bruce was at the heart of it. There was no way I could watch that, if that's what it came down to. There was no way I could spend however many hours wondering if he'd survived, watching the water for his body or whatever had made it out.

And, at my core, I believed that Bruce had come up with a plan that would get him and me out of Gotham safely. I believed in him and his abilities and I believed my chances were higher with him than without him.

"Thank you," I said quietly, "but you know I couldn't watch that. It might be stupid to risk my life too, but… I've never claimed to be smart, especially when it comes to all this." I gestured vaguely around the bunker after freeing my hand from Bruce's. "It'll be terrifying, if we have to go to Plan B, but I'll be in the Bat with you."

That strange mix of curiosity and wonder filled Bruce's eyes again, but just for a second. He pulled me to him, shifting back so I could squeeze on his cot beside him, and kissed me. The metal frame groaned under my added weight, but I barely noticed. My hands, pressed between us, balled into fists around the fabric of his shirt as I returned the kiss, and I slid my foot between his, hooking my heel behind his like I would had we been sparring and I intended to knock his legs out from under him. His arms tightened around me, one hand sliding up along my spine under my shirt, fingertips tracing the scars that had appeared on my skin over the last six months. He never broke the kiss though, and I wished we had more time. More time so I could show him the rest of my new scars, so I could tell him the stories behind each one. So his hands could trace each pattern of scar tissue.

I kissed him harder, suddenly feeling every day of the six months without his touch and wanting to make up for lost time, Gotham's troubles be damned. At least for a little while.

We pulled free of each other at the same time, the sudden air between us cold. I exhaled and then shifted down so I could curl up to Bruce's chest as I had been thinking of doing before. His arms remained securely around me.

"I thought we came back here to rest," I said.

I felt Bruce's laugh more than I heard it. "Then rest."

I closed my eyes and pressed my face into his shirt, wrinkled from my grip, and breathed in the familiar smell of him, let myself feel safe, though I knew it wasn't true. "This plan is insane."

He pressed his lips to my forehead. "I know."

* * *

It had been easier to accept Plan B in the bunker, in Bruce's arms, where I felt safe and secure and could remind myself that I believed in him with everything I was. I'd known it was insane, that it was risky, that it was crazy, but it wasn't as urgent then. I wasn't in the middle of it.

Not like I was now.

I rounded another corner, the Batpod tilting dangerously low. Ahead of me, the truck carrying the bomb barreled down the street, its tumbler guardians recently dispatched by the combined terrorizing of the Bat and Batpod. I didn't know if the men who had been driving the tumblers were alive, and right then I didn't really care, but I'd thought I'd seen movement when I'd driven past the out-of-commission vehicles. I pushed the Batpod faster, attempting to close the distance between myself and the truck.

" _We need to go left at the next intersection or we'll never get to the bunker in time,"_ Batman said, the sudden appearance of his voice in my ear the only reason I heard it.

"Right."

I moved to the right and up alongside the truck, knowing full well that whoever was in the passenger seat, if anyone, would see me coming. I fired the canons at the ground beside the front tire, wondering how much ammo was left, how much time we had left before the bomb exploded. The truck veered slightly and I fired again, the tire exploding with a loud pop and the sudden grind of the rim against the asphalt filling the air. I gnashed my teeth against the noise as I fell behind, following the truck as the driver—it looked like it was Miranda from the small glimpses I could get—tried to correct the unexpected direction the truck was taking, veering sharply to the left.

" _Stay on her right."_

I positioned myself between the buildings and the truck, giving myself a good view of the upcoming street and all the possible alleys and streets Miranda could turn on to. I tried to keep clear of the sparks flying from the exposed rim, but I felt a few hot shocks to my cheeks anyways. We were headed towards one of the openings in the street looking down into a tunnel, and Miranda seemed to be losing control of the vehicle, skidding and wavering towards the hole. Shots from the Bat blew out one of the rear tires, and a second volley hit the road near the driver's cab, Miranda swerving in an attempt to avoid being hit; I heard metal hit metal anyways. The back of the truck swung around in response to her frantic driving and I had to move, fast, or else be sent flying. I ended up far enough away that I had a good view of the truck colliding with the barrier around the opening and plummeting down to the lower level, the metal crunching against the pavement with a sickening sound.

I took the Batpod down the ramp into the tunnel, pulling a swift U-turn so I could dismount next to the wreckage. Before I paid any attention to the cab however, I ran around back to check on the bomb. It was an incredibly stable device, but I was still nervous, and we were getting close to the end of our allotted time. Plus, the truck had just run a gauntlet of sorts after all, and there was no telling what that had done. As I reached the back of the truck, I heard the doors rattling and felt heat, even through the thick walls. Frowning, I hauled myself up and yanked the door open, just as Batman was bringing the bat in to land at the mouth of the tunnel several feet down the road. Gordon nearly fell out as soon as the door was open, wide-eyed and shaken.

"Was it really necessary to run the truck off the road?" he asked as I helped him onto the pavement.

"All we did was blow a couple tires. She was the one who lost control of the vehicle." I put a grin on my face, but I wasn't really feeling it. My mind was still racing with thought of how fast Plan B was becoming our only option. "Are you all right?"

Gordon waved me away. "Bruised, maybe a cracked rib, but I'm fine."

"How much time is left?" Batman asked as he joined us.

I looked at the bomb, forced my eyes to focus on the digital numbers through the wavering air. "Five minutes, twenty seconds."

"We've still got time," Gordon said. "If we attach it to the plane."

Batman took a few steps towards the plane, but was brought up short when a weak laugh drifted out from the cab. "Check out the cab. I'll get the core hooked up."

I swallowed the hard lump in my throat and nodded before I headed to the crushed front of the truck, Gordon following in my wake. He pulled the door open and we found Miranda watching us, slumped down in the seat, her legs crushed beneath the dash and a piece of metal stuck through her stomach. It looked like she might have caught a bullet at some point in her arm as well, or maybe it had been lacerated by broken glass. Either way, her shirt was soaked with blood and her face was approaching colourless. She didn't have much time left, but you wouldn't have known it judging by the expression on her face: it was full of pride. She thought she was victorious.

I had so many questions. So many questions about her involvement in all of this, about why she wanted to blow up Gotham, but I couldn't ask them of her. There wasn't time. Bruce would fill me in later, if I had to drag every answer out of him.

"They gave me the passcodes for the reactor. Taught me how to use it." Her lips split in a ghastly grin, teeth lined in red as blood filled her mouth, dribbled over the edge. "And Fox showed me how to activate the remote flood."

"Shit," I huffed. Plan B was it now. Really it. There was nothing else.

"You have lost." A strangled groan escaped her lips, her eyes fluttering closed and her smug smile faltering. "My father," she said, voice thinner and weaker than it had been. She was fading. She gave a feeble cough, all airs of superiority and friendliness I'd seen from her in years passed gone and replaced by vitriol in her eyes as she opened them, as she glared at Gordon, at me. I couldn't believe this was the woman Bruce and I had had a business relationship with for years. "My father's work is done. Gotham will fall." She kept up the glare, the smile even as the light began to fade from her eyes.

I stepped up onto the twisted floor of the truck and positioned myself over her, my face close enough to smell the blood on her chin. "You haven't won yet," I hissed. "And you won't live long enough to see you and your father's plans fail."

"R'as al Ghul does not fail." Miranda sucked in a breath that wheezed and coughed as she exhaled, blood bubbling around the corners of her lips. "This corrupt… corrupt city you would die to protect… It will fall."

"Not at your hand," I snapped. "And not without a fight."

She might have tried to say something else, but I didn't spare any brain power to try and figure out the words. I stepped back down to the road and exchanged a brief look with Gordon before heading back to where Batman was finishing up. The timer had to be close to three minutes, maybe less. We were cutting it close. I gave my head a shake, ridding my mind of the new questions filling it—Miranda was the daughter of the man who trained Bruce? Of the man who tried to make Gotham destroy itself ten years ago?—and the apprehension, so I could try to focus on what Bruce and I were about to do.

"Miranda is dead," I informed Bruce.

His gaze was level. "Talia. Her name was Talia."

I climbed up to the cockpit of the Bat. "So many questions," I muttered before maneuvering a little less-than-gracefully into the back seat. "So little time."

"What are you going to do?" Gordon asked, just an edge of panic leaking into his voice.

Batman stopped halfway into the plane and turned to look down at Gordon. "Take the bomb out over the bay. We should be able to get it far enough away so the blast doesn't hit the city."

"What about you two? Will you get far enough away?"

I looked between Batman and Gordon, and chewed on the inside of my cheek. Gordon looked confused and increasingly shocked as he realized what the plan was before Batman had even said anything. I wanted to tell Gordon we'd be fine—or we planned to be fine—but I kept my mouth shut. If Batman had wanted Gordon to know the plan, he would have told him, but for our disappearing act to work, everyone had to think we were dead.

"I never cared who you were," Gordon said after a few seconds of stunned silence, "But if you're going to give your life to protect this city, shouldn't the people know who saved them?"

Batman climbed into the cockpit and started the ignition sequence, the plane whirring to life around us. "A hero can be anyone—that was always the point. Anyone from someone who develops a persona to fight crime down to a man putting his coat around the shoulders of a young boy to let him know the world hasn't ended." He closed the canopy, sealing all but the slightest drone of noise out.

We were silent as we lifted into the air, but even from that distance, I could see the look of satisfaction in Gordon's eyes as he mouthed Bruce's name. He was an intelligent man and he'd had his suspicions about Batman's identity, especially after I'd joined the fight, and he'd just had them all confirmed. I sent a small smile in the police commissioner's direction, even though he couldn't see me, and hoped that Plan B worked out as planned. I liked Gordon and would like to see him again, maybe explain what we'd really be planning.

I turned my attention forward as the Bat moved quickly towards the bay, the weight of the bomb swinging around and breaking through deserted buildings in the business sector making the ride far more turbulent than it would have been otherwise. My stomach was in my throat, my hands were balled into white-knuckled fists in my lap, and my heart was hammering louder and louder in my ears as I imagined the timer ticking down on the reactor core beneath us, as I imagined I could feel the heat wafting up.

Then there was nothing but water around us and I knew it was time.

"Twenty-five seconds until we jump, twenty more until the explosion," Batman said, fingers moving deftly over the control panel. As he spoke, the growl fell out of his voice and it was Bruce talking to me, not Batman. "The plane will dip down to thirty feet when we jump and then rise as it flies out over open water."

"Okay." My voice was shaky. I wished I could have sounded as calm as Bruce.

I pushed myself up as the canopy ejected, flying away from us and into the bay. I held tightly to the back of Bruce's seat. He finished setting the autopilot's course, and then he stood and turned to face me, taking my gloved hands in his. We held each other's gaze. I could almost see Bruce counting down in his head.

"Three."

I took a deep breath. We weren't that far above the water. We'd be fine.

"Two."

I exhaled slowly and squeezed Bruce's hands.

"One."

We jumped, up and out, and for a second, it felt like we were floating. Bruce pulled me close as we fell and turned so he, with his armoured suit, would hit the water first. I held on as tight as I dared.

The rush of air and my pounding heartbeat filled my ears.

The water rushed closer; the Bat flew further, faster.

And then the world went white.


	49. A Far Better Rest

 

"Ellie."

Bruce's voice filtered through whatever was blocking my ears and I could tell by his tone, muffled as it was, that it wasn't the first time he'd called my name. I forced my eyes open and found the world blurry, weak sunlight pushing through the clouds and Bruce sitting beside me, the cowl gone and a small smile on his face. He looked odd without the pointed ears adorning his head. I blinked a few times, my vision clearing and the cotton falling from my ears, so to speak. Though it was replaced immediately by a shrill ringing. But I could hear the water slapping against the docks, the seagulls cawing. So the bomb hadn't blown out my eardrums. Just damaged them slightly.

I was alive though, so it didn't matter. Alive and lying on a concrete dock on the edge of the city. I made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh and thanked whoever was listening that Bruce and I had lived. That Gotham was still standing.

"Ellie."

I gave my head a little shake and lifted a hand to Bruce, who took it and helped me slowly rise into a sitting position. I shifted so I could wrap my arms around Bruce's shoulders, and press my face to his neck. He returned the embrace, gloved hands sliding along my back. Real laughter bubbled in my gut and spilled over my lips, my fingers hooking around the plates of the Batsuit as Bruce began to chuckle as well, his hands pressing into my back, a warm and welcome weight that held me upright, held me to him. We'd survived. We'd jumped out of a plane, a bomb had gone off, and we survived. Gotham had survived and Bane was… well, I didn't much care what Bane was in that moment. I laughed so hard I snorted, which only made me and Bruce laugh harder.

I pushed back from Bruce as it passed, so I could look him in the eye. "You are insane," I said, my mouth still curved in a smile. "And I can't believe that worked. We jumped out of a fucking plane and we're okay. You are crazy."

"You came with me."

I punched him gently in the chest before grabbing his face, a hand on either cheek, and kissing him. "Of course I came with you. I never said I wasn't crazy too." I kissed him again and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him to me. He deepened the kiss, our motions fueled by adrenaline and hunger for each other—it had been six months after all—and elation. "I must be, since I stuck around for so long," I said when we broke for air.

A strange look crossed Bruce's face. We hadn't talked about those years a whole lot. "Insane," he finally said, some of the joy gone from his voice.

I punched his chest again and narrowed my eyes at him for turning the moment serious. He rolled his eyes in response. "If the rest of your plan is going to work, we should get out of here."

Bruce nodded and got to his feet, pulling me up after him, a wry smile on his face. We stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, the sense of urgency that had driven us since the sun had risen that morning gone, replaced by a sense of… calm. Which, believe me, was something I never thought I'd be attributing to Bruce Wayne. I leaned into him a bit and gave him a small, warm smile, before I turned and started walking along the dock, headed for land and whatever safe house Bruce had set up in this area of the city. Bruce's footsteps were heavy as mine as he followed. I didn't know where we were going, but Bruce seemed content to let me lead the way anyways.

I could hear helicopters and planes circling the islands of Gotham as we walked, and shouts and cheers from the liberated civilians as the news of what had happened spread, as the rest of Bane's men were rounded up and the city liberated in truth. I found myself unable to rid my lips of my smile, and though my body was bruised and aching and my ears were will ringing, I was happy.

I wondered what Blake was doing, and Selina, and Gordon. I wondered what had been done with Bane's body or with Bane, if he was still alive. With Miranda—Talia's—body. There were so many questions Bruce and I weren't going to get answers to, at least not right away, but getting out of the city was more important. There would be ways to get information later. When we were safe and allowed to be ourselves again, without the added burden of our masked selves.

I huffed and summoned up what I could of the happiness I'd been feeling a few minutes before. Tried to keep the questions and doubt from my mind.

"This way," Bruce said at that moment, drawing me out of my head.

I turned and followed him through a maze of alleyways, the metal-sided buildings of the docks shifting to the brick and mortar of the old city; we'd been walking for long enough that the water wasn't immediately visible anymore. There were a few people wandering these streets, probably intent on heading back to their houses or finding their families and friends now that the city was safe, so we moved slower and quieter than before—the plan wouldn't work if someone spotted us before we could leave Gotham. We didn't have to be sneaky for long though, as Bruce turned down one more alley and then stopped in front of a slightly warped door covered with peeling red-brown paint. After a few seconds, he had it unlocked and we stepped inside.

"Hold on." Bruce turned on an overhead light once he'd shut and locked the door, revealing a rickety set of wooden stairs leading down to a heavy metal door. "Okay. Be careful on the stairs."

I started down, keeping one hand on the wall for balance since there was no railing. "Geez, you couldn't have made it easy, could you?"

"I couldn't risk—"

"Anyone finding it by accident, or being curious enough to investigate—I know, I know." I tossed a smile over my shoulder. "You are deluding yourself if you ever think I'm going to stop giving you a hard time."

Bruce rolled his eyes again, but he was smiling.

At the bottom of the steps, Bruce reached around me to unlock the second door. I pushed it open—not without some effort; it was pretty heavy—and the lights flickered on as I did, illuminating what my brain could only describe as a mini-bunker. The room wasn't entirely concrete like the main bunker further into the city, but most of it was. The massive desk against one wall and a shelving unit against another were both made of wood and stocked to high heaven with computers and supplies, and the cots set up next to each other were covered in an excessive amount of blankets and pillows. There was a small TV on the edge of the desk and bags of what I assumed were clothes for me and Bruce in the corner. My favourite part though, was the arm chair sitting beside the desk, which I knew was put there for me, so I'd be comfortable in front of the computers if relocation had become necessary.

I dropped down into said chair and smiled up at Bruce. "So, what's the plan? We get some sleep and then sneak off to Europe under cover of darkness?"

Bruce tossed the cowl onto the desk and did the same with his gloves as he removed them. The cape swirled around my legs as he stood in front of me; his hands slid along my arms as he leaned down. "Sounds about right," he whispered, bracing himself on the arms of the chair, face close to mine.

He cut my laughter off with a kiss and I hooked my fingers under the front of the Batsuit, pulling him closer. We had lots of time now, time to make up for six months apart, and to learn and relearn each other's scars.

And I planned to take advantage of that time.

* * *

The list of known casualties started coming that evening. It wasn't a long list, not yet, but Bruce's name was on it; it figured they would look for Gotham's elite, even those who were technically no longer rich, first. There were no other familiar names on the list though, thank God.

Bruce and I lay on the floor in the pile of blankets we'd gathered about ourselves and watched the evening news on the small TV, which we'd moved to the floor. We listened as the reporter read the list, as she recounted what was known about the tragedies that befell Gotham during the No Man's Land. It was an odd sensation to listen to the events I'd lived through, described by someone from outside the city, though I was impressed with how much information the press had—the survivors had been busy, talking to the press, to any media outlet who would listen. On one hand, that was good. People needed to know what had happened. But on the other hand… it felt like some sort of violation.

I laced my fingers through Bruce's and held our hands against my stomach under the blanket and closed my eyes. I didn't want to think about it anymore right then. I'd survived—we'd survived—but now, in the wake of the adrenaline, I just felt tired. Exhausted. I knew it had happened, but it felt like some horrid nightmare, especially lying there in Bruce's arms. I felt warm and safe, neither of which I'd felt in six months, and I didn't want that illusion to shatter.

But as soon as that thought crossed my mind, the questions slipped in again. Just like always. I still didn't have answers to any of the things I'd been wondering about regarding Talia, Bane, mine and Bruce's future—any of it. And I still didn't know what had happened to Bruce in the six months he'd been gone.

I shifted onto my back so I could look Bruce in the eye, letting go of his hand as I moved. He slid his hand over my stomach, fingers splaying over my skin, his brows knitting together with concern; he knew what I was about to ask. "Where did Bane take you six months ago?" I asked quietly. "What happened?"

Bruce exhaled slowly and went still, all except for his fingers, which flexed gently on my stomach. I thought he wasn't going to answer, but after a moment he met my eyes again, his face carefully blank. "Do you remember that prison Alfred told me about when this all started?" I nodded and then realization sunk in, my eyes widening slightly. "I woke up there, in incredible pain. I was in a cell at the bottom, looking up at the only exit—a circle of light, like a well, hundreds of feet up." He paused.

"If this isn't a good time…"

Bruce shook his head. "You have a right to know, and I should tell someone. Besides, I promised I'd fill you in."

I nodded and shuffled a little closer, until there was no space between us, our bodies touching along their lengths. I reached under the blanket and took his hand again, squeezing gently. A small smile of recognition for my efforts at making him feel more comfortable was the only sign Bruce knew what I was doing.

"Bane planned on leaving me there, suffering, to watch as he destroyed Gotham. Torture me—my soul—before he let me die. My back… he broke my back in that fight in the tunnels, and I couldn't move—"

I pushed myself up onto my elbows. "What? You had a broken back and didn't think that was worth mentioning?!"

"The man who was keeping me alive helped pop the vertebra back into place," Bruce said in an attempt to mollify my outburst and the resulting glare. "And I'm all right now Ellie. We're both alive."

"I will never believe me when you tell me you're okay again," I snapped.

"Do you want to know what happened or not?"

I huffed. "Fine. Are there any other surprises coming? Cracked skulls? Collapsed lungs? Shattered pelvises?"

"Shattered pelvises?"

"It could happen. You have been known to jump off of buildings before."

"No. No more surprises."

"Continue then."

An indignant look passed between us—just like usual—before Bruce spoke again. "The man propped me up in a sling, hanging until my back strengthened enough so I could stand. There were no painkillers or other medications, just the television Bane had ordered turned on when there was a report about Gotham to distract me… that and my pain." He paused again and sucked in a breath with the memory. I squeezed his hand, the slight anger between us fading. "I hallucinated as I hung there—I thought I was going mad from the pain. Maybe I was. I saw R'as al Ghul, Alfred, my parents… you." I reached up and cupped Bruce's cheek, running my thumb along his skin. One corner of Bruce's mouth lifted, the small expression reaching his eyes. "After lecturing me about getting myself beat to hell and leaving you at the mansion, you told me to get off my ass and get back to Gotham," he said, amusement plain in his voice.

I nodded thoughtfully. "That sounds like me."

Bruce turned his head and kissed my palm, sliding one hand along my shoulder and down my side before his lips found mine. We sunk into the kiss as it became something more than a casual expression. "You've been kicking me in the ass for years, Ellie," he whispered when we parted. "I'd still be stuck in that mansion, sulking about my failures, if you hadn't been there, if you hadn't stayed with me." His fingers were light on my face, tracing the line of the small smile on my lips. "I don't think I deserve you."

"Yes you would and no, you don't." My hand slid down to his chest as I kissed him again. "But I'm here anyways and I'm not going anywhere." I kissed him one more time and offered him a reassuring smile. "So how did you get out of the prison?"

"Climbed."

"I'm guessing there weren't any stairs."

"No. The only other person to try to climb out of that hole and survive was Talia, when she was a kid. Most lost their nerve or fell partway up. I barely made it and almost killed myself trying. Talia was harder than I am. She was born and grew up in that prison, and Bane was her only protector after her mother was killed."

"And Miranda—Talia—was the daughter of R'as al Ghul, right?" Bruce nodded and I said, "Then it's no wonder she was so screwed up."

I got a small laugh for that, one that sounded more exasperated than anything. "She was seeking revenge for her father by killing the man who killed him, however inadvertently, and by finishing the work he didn't get to. She wanted to destroy Gotham in his memory." Bruce shifted around under the blankets and hooked his arm under my neck, so he could lie down beside me and I could pillow my head on his bicep. I turned my face into his shoulder, my eyes closing of their own accord even though I wasn't tired. "Her bid for the energy project was a way to get close and learn what she could about the reactor core so she could control any number of situations, like she tried to do when she engaged the emergency flood."

"It was a good plan. Maybe even brilliant, what with all the faking the deaths of scientists and breaking into Wayne Enterprises from the tunnels and whatnot. Evil. But brilliant."

"That pretty much sums up the League of Shadows."

I laughed into Bruce's shoulder and then rolled onto my back and smiled up at him. He pulled me back to him, wrapping his arms around me in a hug and for a few minutes, we just lay there and forgot everything else. When we finally did come back to the world, Bruce looked at me somewhat sadly.

"We need to get ready. It's almost dark."

I nodded and Bruce and I slowly got to our feet, untangling ourselves from each other and the blankets. I wrapped one of the lighter blankets around my naked self to ward off the chill of the basement bunker and set about gathering my things.

* * *

Bruce and I had flown into Paris in the back of a cargo plane similar to the one we used to extract Lao from Hong Kong, only completely legitimate and stuffed to the ceiling with crates. Which made for a really comfortable flight. I'd called my parents and Sarah on the way, informing them through their yelling and questions that yes, I was fine, no, I hadn't died in Gotham and no, I wasn't actually missing, and no, they couldn't tell anyone I was alive. It took some convincing and heavy promises of answers to get the three of them to agree, but eventually my secrecy was secured along with Bruce's.

I'd wanted to call Gordon, Lucius, and Blake, to let them know we were okay, but I couldn't. Not until Bruce and I had established strong enough alibis all over Europe. I'd wanted to call Alfred as well, and Bruce almost agreed, but eventually had asked me to wait to call the butler as well, and I'd reluctantly agreed.

The urgency of the calls I'd wanted to make disappeared in the bliss and peace of Paris. It was easy to forget the world had still spun on while the No Man's Land raged on, and all the food, the people, the happiness around me was like sensory overload. It was glorious and I gave myself over to it, let it carry me through the French countryside. It didn't take much longer than a week off, of doing nothing but indulging, for Bruce and me to start sparring again, though we didn't go at it with quite the same gusto we used to.

We kept up on the news from home, reading extended and revised casualty lists, stories about the cost of the destruction Bane had caused and the plans for repairs, stories told by the survivors—anything and everything. Bruce may have given up his cape and cowl but he wanted to keep his finger on the pulse of Gotham, of his home. I felt the same. We read about the quiet funeral for Bruce Wayne, the difficulties in sorting out his estate, and again, I wanted to call Alfred and Lucius, Gordon and Blake, but I didn't. I couldn't very well call any of them at that point because they'd all known I was in the city during the whole mess. They would wonder where I was, why I hadn't been at the funeral, how I'd gotten out of Gotham. Too many questions. But it hurt to not be able to speak to them, to know what I was keeping from them. But I'd agreed to this plan. I'd agreed to play dead.

That didn't mean I hadn't spent a few days mad at Bruce. As we started towards the Swiss border, the anger and frustration abated, and it was when we were in Lyon that I found the bliss again.

* * *

_Two weeks after leaving Gotham, in Lyon, France._

"You're in the paper."

"Excuse me?"

I looked up from my book and accepted the American newspaper Bruce was holding out towards me across the table. I knew before I'd even unfolded it that the front page was more news about Gotham—it had been pretty steady since we'd left and had even leaked into international papers. Usually, it was about the expanding casualty list, or reporting the damage Bane had done to the city and the plans to rebuild it. There had been a story about the survivors, one Gordon contributed heavily to. Another paper had had a picture of surviving members of the Wayne Enterprises board, including Lucius. But the paper Bruce handed me held different news.

Well, it would have to be different, to include something about me.

I set my book down on the café table, shoving my half-eaten muffin and cup of tea out of the way, and unfolded the paper, a slight breeze ruffling the edges as I did. I didn't bother to read the headline. I didn't have to. The majority of the page was consumed by a full-colour photo, split in two. One half of the photo showed a beautifully carved, larger-than-life statue of Batman, head bowed and cape draping majestically over his shoulders, down to the floor, where it pooled. It was positioned in the centre of one of the outdoor plazas downtown. The statue looked as if it could come alive at any moment and take the rooftops again.

The other half of the photo… it showed a statue as well, but one of me.

Well, okay, it wasn't exactly of me. I'd done my best to make sure I didn't linger anywhere too long, at sticking to the shadows. No one, except Blake, Lucius, and Gordon and maybe some of the other cops, really knew what I looked like, and no one except Blake, Lucius, and Gordon knew who I was. The face of the statue was fairly generic, the mask around the eyes more prominent than anything, but the clothes were pretty accurate, and much more militant-looking than Batman's cape and cowl. I didn't look like a creature out of some twisted myth, and I didn't look like any creature of the night. I looked like some sort of… well, a vigilante. There was no other word for it.

I looked back up at Bruce, my face split in a wide grin. "They built a statue of me."

"Gordon knows what you did. He wouldn't have let that go undocumented." He gestured back towards the paper, his dark eyes shining like they did when he knew something I didn't. "Read the caption for the image."

"'These statues were made to honour the heroes who risked and ultimately gave their lives to save our city. Batman, and the unknown masked woman, who some have taken to calling Shadow, died when the bomb they carried out over the bay, away from the city, exploded.'" Surprised and shocked laughter escaped my lips; one of my hands flew up to cover my mouth, and I found Bruce's eyes again. "They built a statue for me," I breathed. "They gave me a name."

"You did extraordinary things, Ellie."

I set the paper down on the table, pinning it in place with my book, and settled back in the cast iron chair, a smile on my face, and gazed out across the river, letting the news sink in. I hadn't done any of it for recognition. I'd done it because it was right, because no one should have been left to terrorize Gotham the way Bane did. I'd done it because the city had been in desperate need for a hero, because Batman had vanished, and the people were lost. I'd done it for a million reasons, but I'd never expected this. At most, I'd expected my actions to be attributed to Batman, but I had not been relegated to his shadow.

I laughed again and shot to my feet, nearly skipping around the table to stand in front of Bruce, my hands extended to him. He took them and stood, smiling wider than I'd seen in a long, long time, his eyes alight with that bizarre form of wonder I'd seen on and off since his return. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he put his forehead against mine, our noses bumping and bringing more laughter from my throat.

"Let's do extraordinary things together," I said quietly. "Always."

Bruce's low laughter moved through his chest and across my lips on his breath. "Always."


	50. After

 

_Four months after leaving Gotham.  
_ _Two weeks since the reappearance of Batman in Gotham._

Florence was beautiful—all gold and green and laughter and by far my favourite place we'd visited on our whirlwind, alibi-establishing tour of Europe. It helped that the Wayne house—a massive apartment devouring the top two floors of an old building along the river—was beautiful and comfortable and every bit as elegant as their holdings in Gotham had been. The food was to die for and the people were largely friendly and welcoming, especially those Bruce and I saw every day or every few days as we moved through the routine we'd fallen into during the two-ish weeks we'd been in the city.

Currently, we were sitting at a different café than the one we usually frequented, drinking tea and coffee and nibbling on a variety of pastries. Okay, I was nibbling on pastries. Bruce had eaten his breakfast and then settled in with a book, content to let time drift on. I was wearing a white sundress that was nearly gauzy in its construction and my recently-cut hair moved in the mild breeze, the ends gently brushing my shoudlers.

I should have been comfortable, but we were at that specific café with a purpose in mind, and I was getting impatient.

What else was new?

"Are you sure this is the right place? We've been here for almost an hour and he hasn't shown up."

"This is the right place," Bruce assured me as he tilted his mug of coffee to his lips.

He watched me look around over the rim of the cup, his eyes betraying his amusement at my impatience. He'd found all my newly acquired quirks amusing. I did my best to ignore it.

"Have you checked the Gotham news yet today?"

I frowned deeply at him, acutely aware of the ploy to distract me. He had also become quite adept at manipulating my habits to avoid outbursts, which were also becoming more common. I was not as good at ignoring his manipulations, but I did my best. Sometimes, my best was just giving in.

I pulled my tablet from my purse, my fingers moving deftly across the screen as I brought up the websites of the various Gotham City newspapers. I shot Bruce an indignant look over the table. He brushed it off with a chuckle.

I may or may not have lifted my hand in an obscene gesture in response before turning my attention to the news.

Unsurprisingly, all of the websites I frequented featured a story about the return of Batman on their front pages.

Bruce had been right about Blake—he'd picked up the cape and cowl with very little hesitation and seemed well-suited to the role. The reading of Bruce's will had taken place about a month after the funeral, and Blake had been left a duffel bag full of climbing equipment and a GPS with pre-programed coordinates that led straight to the waterfall with an entrance to the cave concealed behind the rushing water. Now Blake was following in Bruce's footsteps and everyone in Gotham was shocked, to say the least, to see their hero returned.

It wasn't any secret that it wasn't the same man under the cowl however, which was creating a whole new level of buzz around the vigilante. Blake was smaller than Bruce and he moved differently, less like an ethereal creature and more grounded. He favoured the gadgets when Bruce had been more about his martial arts skills, and the criminals Blake brought to justice tended to be in a bit better shape than they had been once Bruce had finished with them. The papers loved to speculate on who was beneath the cowl now, but without confirmation on the previous Batman's identity and therefore his acquaintances, there was no way to be sure, and there wasn't even somewhere to start looking, so the suggestions the newspapers made tended towards the insane.

Like Harvey Dent, returned from the grave.

I wish I was kidding.

Some sources had proposed that Bruce Wayne—assumed dead until about a week ago—had been behind the original mask of Batman, since they had both perished in the No Man's Land without a trace. But when Bruce had turned up in Europe, oblivious to the resolution of Gotham's conflict, and with a paper trail claiming he'd been travelling since just before Bane had shown up, those rumours pretty much ceased. That he was travelling with me—someone whose presence had never been confirmed in Gotham during the time of the occupation—only cemented his stance. The news about our sojourn throughout Europe was spreading as well, and the journalists loved to guess at just who I was to Bruce.

Bruce Wayne might not have been rich anymore—though the banks were working on getting Bruce whatever money he was owed after the whole ordeal—but that didn't mean he wasn't still interesting. People didn't return from the dead every day, not even in Gotham City.

Most of the stories about Batman were from the previous day—with Florence six hours ahead of Gotham, the current day's stories hadn't been uploaded yet—and were discussing the various candidates for the man under the cowl. One was detailing the story of a woman who had been saved by Batman, and another was lamenting the reappearance of a vigilante in Gotham. The last seemed the only dissenter to Batman's reappearance and the citizens had rallied behind their masked hero, despite it being someone else.

Bruce's vision of Batman as an eternal symbol was coming to pass. It didn't matter that this wasn't the same man who had been instrumental in stopping Bane—the people knew Batman was there to help and protect. Maybe it wouldn't last. Actually, I was sure it wouldn't—there was something about a vigilante in a big cape with pointy ears and a growling voice that made people nervous—but I would enjoy it while it did.

"More evidence that Blake was a wise choice as your successor," I said as I sipped at my second cup of tea. "Remind me never to doubt any of your plans again."

"Ellie, you wouldn't be you if you didn't doubt my plans."

"True. Hey," I said, shifting around a bit, looking for a more comfortable position in which to sit, "we've made the news again too. I guess news of our return from the dead is starting to spread. We're on like, page eight or something like that though. We're slipping." I brought up the story about us and passed Bruce the tablet with a smirk. "I can't wait to see what happens when this becomes more apparent," I added, one hand dropping to the slight bump of my stomach, blissfully kept concealed by the cut of my dress. "I guess they'll finally know who I am to you."

Bruce finished scanning the article and then looked up, one eyebrow slightly raised. "I'm more concerned with what will happen when your mother finds out."

I laughed. "I'm pretty sure you'll be safe. I'm the one she'll be mad at for concealing such vital information. She's wanted grandkids for years and now that she's going to have one, I withhold the information? She's still mad at me for not telling her why she had to pretend I was still missing and presumed dead."

"I think the good news might be enough to get her to forgive you."

"Let's hope."

Bruce looked like he might say something else, but whatever words there were got lost as his eyes went distant, focusing somewhere over my shoulder and across the river.

I was pretty sure I knew what I would find when I looked, but that didn't keep the excitement, and a little apprehension, from bubbling up inside. It didn't keep the smile from spreading over my face when I finally did turn around, either.

It had been far too long since I'd seen Alfred, or even spoken to him for that matter, especially since there'd been a time when we spoke every day. As for Bruce… well, I could hardly imagine what he was feeling right then. His last encounter with the man who had raised him to adulthood, who had helped him turn the caves under Wayne Manor into the Batcave, who had helped to bring Batman to life, had been an argument—one of the worst I'd ever seen them have. When I looked back at Bruce though, he had a small but brilliant smile on his face, and his eyes were shining with happiness and relief.

From the half-shocked, half-happy look on Alfred's face, he felt the same way.

The former butler dropped some money on the table he'd been sitting at, tucked his newspaper under his arm, and crossed the narrow bridge to our side of the river. His eyes barely left us as he moved, and it was clear from his expression that he didn't entirely believe what he was seeing. Bruce and I rose to our feet as he approached, and, for a moment, the three of us stood there, Bruce and me looking at Alfred, and Alfred looking at us. It felt almost surreal for the three of us to be that close together again.

My eyes began to itch with unshed tears and I did my best to keep them from falling.

"I missed you Alfred," I said, breaking the silence and stepping forward to hug him.

"And I you, Eleanor." The former butler hugged me tighter than I think he ever had; I could almost feel how much he had missed Bruce and me in the press of his arms around my shoulders. "I'm so glad you both are alive and well. The last six months… they've been nearly unbearable." His voice cracked a little over the words. It wasn't hard to image that he'd been dwelling on the worst possible scenarios for a long time.

"I'm sorry Alfred, so sorry." I kissed his cheek and hugged him again, tears pressing at the back of my eyes and my control about to unravel.

"As much as I don't like it, you did what you had to do. You both did."

I stepped back and Bruce took my place, though the embrace between the two men was almost hesitant, both unsure of what the other would say or do in the face of the tension left from their fight, and from the six months they'd both had to think about what they'd said. Bruce closed his eyes and tightened his arms around Alfred though, and I could have sworn I heard an apology whispered from his lips. Actually, I was pretty sure he apologized, and I was pretty sure Alfred did as well, because Bruce was smiling as he stepped back, and there were happy tears in Alfred's eyes. He was looking at Bruce with pride and love and joy.

My vision wavered with the sight—it was something I hadn't been sure I'd see again—and tears trickled down my cheeks. "God damn hormones," I mumbled, wiping at the sudden torrent with the heels of my hands. Alfred's pale eyes went wide with understanding and I cursed again, balling my hands into fists as I dropped them back to my sides. "That was so not how we were going to tell you."

But Bruce was chuckling and Alfred's laughter followed shortly after. "I suspect not."

* * *

_Five months after leaving Gotham.  
_ _One month and two weeks since the reappearance of Batman in Gotham._

"Looks like Blake is settling into his new role well."

I nodded almost absently.

It was true that Blake was flourishing as Batman, spreading the name farther, and increasing the already favourable public opinion. I was still waiting for the bottom to fall out and for people to start fearing or hating Batman again. Maybe it would never happen. Maybe it would take something big like the appearance of another masked villain. I hoped it wouldn't happen, but I knew better.

"Ellie, are you okay?"

I nodded again, and finally managed to pull my eyes off the television screen where we'd been watching a global news channel, currently focusing on Gotham. "I thought I saw something in that last clip of Batman; someone else fighting with him."

Bruce's brows knit together and he picked up the remote, pressing the button to rewind the broadcast. He leaned forward as he watched, a look on his face I hadn't seen since the last time we were deep into hunting someone or something. It was a look that reminded me of hours spent in the cave and the bunker, and it brought a fond smile to my face, an expression that Bruce missed when he made a thoughtful noise and paused the feed.

I turned my attention back to the television screen and found my suspicions confirmed. A figure was posed mid-kick behind Batman, taking out another of the thugs connected to the car theft ring Gotham's hero had busted. Someone else had been fighting with Batman. A woman.

"Huh," I said.

"That's all you have to say on the matter? She's likely following in your footsteps."

"We can't know that for sure."

The corners of Bruce's mouth turned down in a thoughtful expression; he'd become a lot more open about showing what he felt on his face since leaving Gotham. Not all at once. I'd seen the transformation over the past months, watching more pieces of Bruce appear on his face. It was jarring at times, when I was so used to a stoic face listening or watching or speaking, but I liked it.

"I thought you'd be more excited if this happened," he said. He pressed play and we both focused on the woman, holding her own in the background. "I wonder why they're not mentioning her in the story."

"Probably waiting for some concrete information. Or they haven't noticed. Either one." I climbed out of the chair I'd sunk into and headed for the kitchen, one hand resting on my stomach, as it so often did when I was ambulatory. "And I will be excited, when there's something concrete to be excited about. Right now, it's just a woman in a purple hoodie beating up some assholes."

Bruce came up behind me as I was staring into the depths of the refrigerator and put his arms around me, arms resting gently on the small bump of my belly. "Do you miss it?"

I sighed heavily and leaned back into him a bit. "Do you?"

He kissed my temple and I knew what he would say before he opened his mouth. "Sometimes."

"Me too, sometimes." I turned in the circle of his arms, the fridge door shutting behind me, and pressed my face into his chest. I closed my eyes and remembered a thousand other embraces, a thousand other moments that had felt like this one, a thousand moments in another lifetime. "Sometimes I think about what it would be like to go back, to help Blake, and then I think he might not want our help."

A soft laugh vibrated through Bruce's chest. "I think it's good that he find his own way. Besides, I'm not entirely sure either of us could take a backseat and let him run the show."

"You're probably right, as usual." I lifted my head and kissed Bruce quickly, before turning back to the fridge to grab the jug of ice water and pour myself a glass. "Do you remember that time I went after the Batman imposter on my own?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever think I'd end up putting on my own mask and fighting crime?"

"Not then, I didn't." Bruce leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest. "I don't think it was until you started taking your martial arts and archery seriously that I thought you might step out of the cave, so to speak." His expression softened as he met my eyes. "I am proud of what you did. It was completely unexpected. I never saw footage of you or heard of your actions in the bits of news Bane had me watch."

"And if you had?"

He thought about his reply for a second, a smile curling one corner of his mouth up. "I might have been shocked at first, but really, I probably shouldn't have been surprised. I shouldn't have been surprised anyway, but I was."

I grinned up at him and then gestured at the TV. "Let's hope the new girl, if she is following in my footsteps, can surprise the hell out of a few people."

I took a sip of water and then headed back into the living room, reasserting my claim on the biggest armchair in the apartment. Bruce settled on the end of the couch closest to me and changed the channel to someone else, something less gloomy than the news. I thought it was a crime drama, but I wasn't paying very close attention; I couldn't have even told you whether the program was in English or Italian. My mind was still back in Gotham.

Alfred had returned to the city to tie up a few loose ends before he came to live with us again. We'd told him he didn't have to, that he had more than earned the right to go off and live his own life, but he told us he wanted to stay, wanted to see the next generation of the Wayne family he'd served and loved for so long. We were, of course, ecstatic to have him. He was passing on the truth of mine and Bruce's resurrection to Lucius, Gordon, and Blake, as well as stopping in to stay hi to Sarah and Aaron, and my parents. My thoughts didn't rest long with them though. I would see most of them soon enough, when they came for the wedding ceremony my mother insisted Bruce and I have.

Blake and Gordon probably wouldn't come—I couldn't ask them to leave Gotham, not now, when Blake was at the beginning of his sojourn as Batman, and Gordon was regaining the respect he'd once held among the GCPD—and I wondered how they were doing. I made a mental note to call them soon to find out, to catch up on what had happened to them in the past few months. I also wondered about Selina. If anyone knew where she'd ended up after the explosion. Had she left Gotham? There weren't any reports of burglaries that could be confirmed as her, and Bruce and I didn't have the technology to track the pearl necklace anymore. It seemed a lifetime ago when Selina had stolen those pearls and knocked Bruce into action after so many years; a lifetime ago that her and I had stood in her apartment and gazed out at the flaming bat symbol on the bridge. I had never really connected with Selina, but we'd done some work together during the No Man's Land, and Bruce's assumption about her had been correct—she was a lot more honourable than she seemed at first glance. I thought that maybe, under different circumstances, we could have been friends, but I didn't see those circumstances coming about any time soon. I would have to content myself with wishing her well.

"What are you thinking about now?" Bruce asked, drawing me from my reverie.

"I was just wondering where Selina was and how everyone else back in Gotham is doing. This is the longest I've ever been away and watching the news and you and I talking about it… I'm just missing the city more than usual right now."

"We could go back."

An abrupt laugh escaped, more from amusement at the idea, than from the actual suggestion; I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about returning. "Bruce, if we went back, we'd never leave again."

* * *

_Six months after leaving Gotham.  
_ _Five months and two weeks since the reappearance of Batman in Gotham._

"I'm so happy for you honey! It was a beautiful ceremony, if I do say so myself, and you know you can call us if you need any help with the baby—I still can't believe you waited so long to tell me!"

I smiled at my mother, indulging her self-congratulatory statement about my wedding that she and Sarah had planned, and hugged her again. She kissed my cheek and squeezed as tight as she dared. "I know Mom, and again, I'm sorry." She started to pull back from the embrace and I hugged her tighter, spurred by one of the sudden bursts of emotion I was learning to deal with. "I missed you."

She put a hand on either side of my face and kissed both my cheeks and my nose, just like she used to do when I was little and had had a bad dream. "I missed you too, baby girl." Another smile took over her features, lines appearing at the corners of her eyes and mouth. "You'll call if you need anything."

I laughed and nodded. "I will. I love you."

Satisfied, she moved her attentions to Bruce, and my Dad stepped up, hugging me significantly tighter that Mom had. He too, kissed my cheek, and I could tell he was smiling.

"I'm proud of you," he said quietly.

I looked up at him as she stepped back, mouth and brows twisted in confusion. "For what? I don't think I've exactly done anything lately to be proud of."

He put a hand on either shoulder and gave me a very fatherly expression, his blue-green eyes shining. The small smile he gave me brought a similar expression to my face. "Honey, I am proud of you for finally settling down, and for finally taking care of yourself. I'm proud of what you did before that mess in Gotham, when you tried to get us and others to safety, and I am proud of what you did during the occupation." The last was said in a quieter voice, one that probably only I could hear.

I blanched, but he said nothing else about it, just pulled me into another hug. I hadn't even considered what would happen if my parents figured out who the masked woman in Gotham was—and I mean, I probably would have been more shocked if they hadn't recognized me. Since Mom hadn't said anything, I assumed she didn't know, and I didn't think Dad would tell her. She'd just worry retroactively. I returned the second hug and forced my mind onto other things.

"I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, hon." He kissed my forehead as he stepped back. "I'll do my best to keep your mother from interfering too much with the baby, but I'm not making any promises."

"I heard that Liam!"

Dad and I laughed and then he headed for the car, waiting to take him and Mom to their hotel for the night. Sarah and Aaron had already returned to their hotel; they were travelling with their five month old daughter, Angela, and didn't have the stamina to stay up too late. I'd gotten an earful from Sarah about missing Angela's birth, but she'd forgiven me after I let her and Aaron bombard me with tips about raising and child and still getting shit done—Sarah's words exactly.

"I suppose you're heading back to Gotham soon?" I asked Lucius, as he disengaged from the conversation he was having with Alfred and Bruce.

"In a couple of days. Thought I'd see a bit of the city first," he added with a smile. "That young man is handling himself quite well, and I am quite enjoying my continued partnership with Batman. That reminds me—Mr. Blake sends his congratulations on the wedding and for the baby, and would like you to know he wasn't pleased about being kept out of the plan."

"I can't say as I'm surprised. I think you and Gordon were the only two who accepted it as necessary."

"Doesn't mean we were happy about it."

I gave Lucius an apologetic look and hugged him. It felt a little strange to hug my former boss, but I didn't think it mattered. "I am glad you came, Lucius."

"Wouldn't have missed it."

Shortly after that, Alfred head back to the house with the gifts our friends and family had brought even though we'd told them not to, and Bruce and I were on our way to the hotel where we'd be staying for our wedding night. It seemed kind of silly, considering all we'd been through and how long we'd been together, but I wasn't going to say no.

I leaned my head on Bruce's shoulder in the car ride over, thinking about the ceremony in the park near the river, and how it had almost felt like a dream, Bruce and I standing there in front of those closest to us and promising each other something I'd known for years—that, though we'd interrupt each other and push buttons and pick at old wounds, we'd be together for the rest of our lives. I'd half expected to wake up while I said my vows, and find myself lying in an alley, Bane still holding Gotham hostage, and having hit my head far too hard on the pavement.

But Bruce and I had exchanged rings and then Bruce had kissed me and I'd known it wasn't a dream. The thought had made me laugh in joy then and it did the same in the car.

Bruce looked at me curiously before kissing me quickly. "We're here."

He helped me out of the backseat and took our overnight bag from the driver, and then we'd headed inside the impressive building, checked in, and found our way to our floor. The hallway was lit with golden light and lined with thick carpets and I was back to that dream-like feeling, a wide grin on my lips and anticipation bubbling ridiculously in my gut. We stopped in front of the door to our suite and stood, facing each other. Bruce met my grin with a heady look that made me blush.

"After you, Mrs. Wayne," he said, opening the door; I may have been imaging it, but I thought a little bit of Batman's growl may have slipped into his voice.

I smirked as devilishly as I could manage in response and stepped into the lavish hotel room. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, it’s the end! I am simultaneously very happy and very sad. As you all know, I’ve been working on this fic for a long time (far too long, I know), and this is the first project of this size that I’ve finished. 
> 
> First, my intentions with the epilogue were to set up a situation where it felt like the mythology and world would continue on. Batman’s doing his thing in Gotham, Ellie and Bruce are happy in Florence with a baby on the way… You know, good stuff. Also, I wanted to convey that Ellie and Bruce were happy, but that part of their minds would always be back in Gotham with the life they left behind. Neither of them are ever going to be able to fully let go of what they lived through and what they had in Gotham, but they’re trying and they’re not going to go back to that. I toyed with having them return to Gotham at the end, but that would be counterproductive to them actually moving on. Maybe in a few years, when their kid is older.
> 
> And now some more sappy stuff.
> 
> I’m so grateful to all of you for sticking around, reviewing, telling me what you think, giving me ideas… It’s been a fun ride. You guys are seriously the best, and as… Oh, I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I thought some of you might like to know some of the other ideas I toyed with while writing this beast of a fic: 
> 
> 1\. When I was originally planning this fic, Ellie and Bruce never officially ended up together. Bruce and Selina rode off into the Italian sunset and Ellie stayed in Gotham to keep up her position at Blake’s side once he took up the cape and cowl.   
> 2\. My initial revision to that was Eleanor helped Blake get people off the island during the final battle and she, like everyone else, thought Batman had died. It wasn’t until after Blake was established as the new Batman that she received an e-mail telling her to go to the Wayne house in Florence, where she found Bruce alive and well. Selina had helped him get out of the city and got Eleanor to Florence so Bruce could stay “dead.” Naturally, Eleanor freaked out, but she and Bruce got to live happily ever after anyways.  
> 3\. At one point, Ellie was going to die saving Batman’s life during the battle at City Hall.  
> 4\. Eleanor’s bullet wound to the leg was originally going to take her out of commission for the rest of the No Man’s Land. She holed up in Bruce’s old apartment downtown and Gordon and Blake kept her apprised of what was going on. It wasn’t until Bruce got back that she headed back out into the city. This one went along with #2.  
> 5\. For a long time, Bruce and Ellie weren’t going to get together until after the No Man’s Land.  
> 6\. There was one version where Ellie did leave Bruce during his years as a shut-in, and went back to work for Lucius. When Bruce came to the office to talk to Lucius, they had a bit of a fight, and Bruce had to convince Ellie to come back to help him. She refused him until she saw him chasing Bane on the news.  
> 7\. One version had Ellie completely changed when Bruce came back to Gotham. Changed to the point of nearly hating him.
> 
> Clearly, things changed quite a bit as I wrote the thing. Ellie’s been around for a long time. Almost ten years. She started talking to me shortly after I saw Batman Begins in 2005. She’s changed a lot since then. Don’t believe me? Just read Superhero’s Confidante and Chances Are. Beware, they are awful. She may pop up again, but to answer a question I’ve received a couple of times, I don’t think I’ll be writing anything else with Bruce and Ellie, at least not for a long while. I want to start focusing more on my original fiction, and any fanfiction I do write from now on will be for different fandoms. The ones I want to write for most are the MCU, Pacific Rim, Star Trek, and X-Men. I love Bruce and Ellie, but I’ve told their story and now it’s time to move on. 
> 
> Once again, thank you all so, so much. You made struggling through this fic 100% worth it.


End file.
